


The courtship of Curufin

by Torpi



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Gen, Worldbuilding, cakes, drabble-ish, language&linguistics, literal fluff, mistaking courtship for an academic competition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 34,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpi/pseuds/Torpi
Summary: The awkward, strange and wondrous courtship of Curufin during his days in Aman.Who was courting whom?
Relationships: Curufin | Curufinwë/Curufin's Wife
Comments: 102
Kudos: 42





	1. Stranger

Sirmë tucked a few wayward strands of hair back into her braided bun.

Flouting your hair during a walk was all good and well; maybe a bit dangerous if you were painting or sewing (she could remember her younger sister weaving her own hair into a lovely dress. She had to cut her hair for it though so it was quite upsetting since she had to decline participation at the feast of stars from July because of her shorn hair. Jokes were made of hair in the wrong places. The dress was appreciated though).

Having hair in your food cannot be considered quaint in any circumstance. Even silver teleri hair. So bonnet, tight braids and attention to any stray hairs was paramount.

She is giddy, searching for a quiet spot to start her experiment. The stones sing under her, around her, of their makers, of the past years, of the fairs before. Deep down, they whisper of their beginnings and she taps and dances on the paved stones, taken in their stories. Telperion is in full light so the trees and plants are still sleepy, chatting softly to each-other, murmuring of breezes or birds or bees. They are easier to ignore when only heard. Only a few nocturnal animals have their bright minds pointed sharply outwards.

She stops in the perfect place, two low walls of stone and a water fountain on the other side. Its song is changing subtly every sixty-five plinks from the second ledge. It will help her concentrate. She admires its song, working out the fountain incredible structure, the way gems wink in its clear water in the light of Laurelin.

Oh, Laurelin is already starting to light.

She hurriedly finishes setting up her experiment and then makes herself comfortable and starts humming to it, coaxing the ingredients to take shape with both her hands and song.

It’s something she started after working a bit with minerals, old lessons from her infancy when she was really interested in geology, resurfacing readily. She is almost there with her father teaching her the proprieties of different types of minerals. She is using a different medium though. An edible creation is the best after all.

Soon, she has a mountain range, inspired by the mountains from lore, the Long Journey.

On the outside, they are rugged mountains, grey and black with white capped peaks, green veins like moss or forests trailing upwards. The insides are crystal mazes, glittering caves. Water drips from reservoirs hidden in high pockets inside, creating a soft tinkling melody. The chemical reactions made by the flow of air, water and compounds, shifts the mountains minutely. First there will be clouds to surround the mountains, to give them the feeling of great height. Then, the temperature will start freezing there, creating the effect of ice-capped peaks. As a surprise, instead of icing over, a volcano will appear soon afterwards, when Laurelin is in full bloom, and it will change the whole range dramatically. She follows the changes attentively, offering hums and snatches of encouragement when needed to nudge things in the right direction.

Everything is perfect until an ellon comes to watch as well, ear cocked to listen to the mountain’s song. His uninvited presence disturbs her peaceful experimentation.

`There is a slight delay between these two peaks`, he tells her. With this, he shatters her patience.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first conversation goes as smoothly as one could expect.

_**`There is a slight delay between these two peaks`, he tells her.** _

`Also, the geological formation isn’t quite right. You should be aware that you can’t have those types of caves in volcanic or crystalline rocks. The layering is a mess, you won’t see anything like that occurring naturally, and the density of the sugars relative to the rocks is not quite correct either. You can’t be excused that it makes the song better. It’s not even dissonance. It’s simply a mistake`.

Sirmë looks at him, at his ringed fingers which point to her favourite peaks from the range.

`Nature is not that predictable`, she replies mildly, carefully tuning her voice to resonate with a particular structure within, making it vibrate and hurrying the dissolution of chains faster. `Nor is it tidy’, she adds, voice even lower to finish the chemical reaction. The peaks left of the two aforementioned peaks, suddenly wobble and the ellon grimaces, sensing the structure will collapse.

It does not. Instead, half a wall evaporates and a searing heat and orange red light explodes outwards, coincidentally just close to the ellon’s hands. The hands retreat quickly beyond her table, fingers most probably seared. Sirmë smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

Sirmë smiles and bows her head even more. She sees the earth, his shoes. She offers an apology, which he dismisses with an imperious flick of his hands. He cradles his left arm, callused fingers red and forming blisters, and hums a song of healing. He flexes his fingers a couple of times and seems satisfied. The fingers stop curling and relax.

The mountains hiss and bubble, creating an impressive display of colour and ominous sounds before everything collapses in a coloured lake with yellow-and brown edges, turquoise centre with a hint of pale pink. Vivid green comes from the depths, from another layer, adding more depth perception to the lake.

Silver stars shine somewhere from its depths and there is a hint of a mountain range in the dark smudges below the surface.

As Laurelin’s light vanes, new reactions will start to solidify the lake and a new mountain range will appear. She’ll guide it with song, aid it a little. She knows it is not going to go smoothly. The ellon was right. It wasn’t perfect. But it was hers: a small edible continent, changing with the phases of the Trees, just like Yavanna’s ever changing, ever growing forests of Aman.

The ellon hasn’t left actually. He is still there, analysing the deceptively calm lake, his stance more wary than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by the beautiful rainbow lakes or coloured lakes from around the world and the awesome chemical experiments with rare materials on I discovered on youtube.


	4. Chapter 4

She feels his concentration, intense, like a sharp hot blade; the soft thrum of song as he tentatively tries to see, to understand her structures, her compounds, her _ideas_ without interfering with what he sees is an ongoing process puts her teeth on edge. It feels too much like an official inspection by a master.

This was supposed to be something without any stress. A quaint hobby, close to her heart, where mistakes did not matter. She would have preferred children, even younger apprentices, with all the airs but still enjoying a spectacle without making her feel judged for a mark.

She knows that in Tirion, everybody is a critic, and things go beyond simple amazement and yet, and yet, she just made a project that struck her fancy a mere month ago. In a secluded, private spot.

He shifts. His hands fold in the larger sleeves and he shifts to leave, but then there’s a rustle of clothes as he turns back to her and Sirmë tenses. She doesn’t want advice. She wants to discover it by herself, through trial and error, to see what marvels her mistakes make.

`You still have a lot of adjustments to make it work` she hears. `I would suggest-` he continues while Sirmë, head still bowed, feels her lips pull in a silent snarl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course there are going to be misunderstandings here. It's the basic flavour to any serious courtship.


	5. Stranger- end

He stops for a heartbeat, reconsidering, and continues blandly `making more tests before showcasing`.

She murmurs a meaningless phrase, and he finally takes the hint and leaves. She soon gets lost in the subtle shifting, and reactions in the melting pot of substances. It will soon start to bubble at the bottom and the first sediments should appear. In contact with oxygen, they will blacken, and subsequent reactions will give them a white foam running down the slopes and freezing with their air pockets still intact; her snow torrents.

Her mountains are not real, more like a fantasy. But he doesn’t seem to see it that way. Even the artistically inclined put a lot of stock in respecting the natural order. The centre will be alright but for a better and more realistic aspect she should add some things…maybe-

And here her stream of thoughts is interrupted the second time by a gaggle of children who look, point, gasp, dip their fingers and taste her concoction. They laugh, amazed at the wildly different tastes, shifting by colour and sometimes by other, more subtle rules.

She watches them, amused. They mess up her reaction chain. The mountains will never grow again, and the whole structure becomes unstable, and will rapidly turn into the muddy brown of a marsh. Taste will be too mixed to be enjoyable, although kids love to be surprised with nasty things.

She pours a drop of this, a drop of that, and the lake clears in a crystal blue and hardens rocklike around the grubby fingers of a small boy. He gasps, surprised and the others laugh and flit around him like birds, telling him he will need a hero to save him.

Sirmë dramatically declares herself the hero and pours warm water on the frozen surface. It starts melting into a sticky dense sludge and while the boy wiggles his fingers around trying to get it off, it separates into solids and liquids and the boy is free.

The kids scream in joy, surprise and beg her to show them something else. She mysteriously tells them to search for her after Laurelin blooms ten times, and the children leave, chattering like songbirds.

She watches her experiment. It is now inert. It won’t change anymore. The children though, they made it special. She sings to herself, weaving her observations with the story of a boy caught in a crystal trap and saved by his hunter and cleans everything up.

Her song becomes marred by the reminder of that earlier inspection.

She wished now she had destroyed the peak next to him with a small hammer and a piece of song. It would have broken into fine dust and flown directly in his face and in contact with a solid surface it would have hardened immediately. She fantasies a bit on that, then shakes her head decisively.

She hasn’t seen his face and had refused to let him meet her own eyes. His voice was dangerous. Powerful. His hands those of a craftsman, the movements deliberate. 

She knows she will obsesses on his hands, his voice, his shifts, his song, his intense analysis for days. It is a curse he gave her. Every time she does something remotely close to geological work she will feel him judging her, will hear that voice going around her creation, testing it, tasting it through song.

She feels her hackles rise and almost screams in frustration and embarrassment. She hated critical attention on an unfinished project.

She is also quite sure he has forgotten about her already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes their first meeting, with Curufin as random passer-by.


	6. Interlude- Curufin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Curufin's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, Everyone!
> 
> Thank you SiaDea for all your comments. You made me do a double update. 
> 
> Language notes:  
> yára háno = older brother
> 
> vinya háno = younger brother
> 
> anyára háno = ancient brother  
> atya = father
> 
> aiya= Hello
> 
> ala= hi
> 
> toronya = little brother (this is not entirely certain, but it is used by the brothers as an invented word)  
> ton'ya = lil'bro
> 
> I see the elven children indulging in creating new words and creating secret languages. The others, naturally, try to decode it, sparking competitions. Some words become trendy, like ton'ya who is used a lot by younger elves. 
> 
> Lau and Telpe are the greetings Tyelko convinced Curufin are the correct ones when he was little. (lau from Laurelin and Telpe from telperion. He is always looking to corrupt young elflings into using them)
> 
> Words in italics, unless in quenya, are used to denote invented language.

Curufinwë Atarinkë Fëanorian did not in fact get over it but on the rest of the way to Russo’s private residence, he kept turning the problem over and over in his mind.

Nestled in a maze of narrow streets with high houses spiralling upwards in fantastic manners, bridges connecting aerial streets and various public pavilions, he arrived to his brother’s house to find not only his older brother but Tyelko, Arafinwë and a three year old Findekáno as well.

` Ala, Russo!` He greeted his older brother informally.

`Aiya, anyára háno`, he added to Tyelko who was sprawled on the floor, teaching Arafinwë some light tricks with the weapons. Apparently they were effective when hunting fell beasts. Arafinwë seemed a bit dazed by Tyelko’s rapid explanations and changes from gems, edge of blades and different intensities and proprieties of each gemstone depending on the opponent, but he followed his movements intensely, as well as Findekáno who had gone cross-eyed from trying to keep up.

`Ala, _ton’ya_ `, replied both, Tyelko stopping from his last spin and making all knives and light from gems disappear in a flash. Findekáno shouted delightedly and begged him to do it again while Arafinwë was frowning, trying to decipher how he did it. When they saw Curufinwë, they adopted a more formal position. At least Arafinwë did. He was a bit older than Findekáno, having just celebrated his thirty-fifth begetting day. 

`Found them sneaking out to go beyond the light of the trees to recreate the Long Journey`, Maitimo answered to his silent question.

`If you wish for darkness, the sewers would do` Curufinwë told them solemnly.

Maitimo threw him a disapproving look which he ignored.

Findekáno came to him, hair definitely braided by his brother – Curufinwë sees the remnants of some sticky substances there, in the shine of his hair- and wonders what had happened.

`Lau! Lau!`, Findekáno shouts to him, waving, while Arafinwë, more reserved, greets him with an unsure `Lau, Cousin`.

It seems Maitimo managed to teach them their fake greeting as well.

`It was Tyelko`, Maitimo tells him, accurately replying to his thoughts. Curufinwë scowls and Maitimo’s smile widens. `You can’t hide your thoughts from me, _vinya_ `, he adds teasingly.

` _How did you convince Arafinwë it’s a real greeting_?`, Curufinwë asks.

Tyelko replies with a series of bizarre chirps and groans, peppered with snorting sounds, and some growls and howls. Then, he looks at him with an expectant air.

`Nobody understood _your_ secret language, Tyelko`, Curufinwë replies irritated. His thoughts start wandering back to the experiment he saw earlier, and how to fix the obvious mistakes there.

`It’s the calling of the fire bird you uncultured little _shit`_ , Tyelko drawls, mockingly.

`What is ` _shit`_? Finno asks, looking at Maitimo innocently.

`Curufinwë’s real name` Tyelko replies.

`Can I use it too?`, the boy asks eagerly.

`Only big brothers can do it, as a general term of endearment which perfectly encapsulates in a few sounds the very essence of younger siblings like him’, Tyelko smirks. `You can call _your_ future siblings like that. Remember. _Shit.`_

 _`Shit`,_ replies Findekáno solemnly.

Maitimo snorts and starts fixing Findekáno’s braids again. He had found some golden thread and started weaving it into his little cousin’s hair.

Tyelko now lounges next to Arafinwë, who relaxes, and starts quizzing him on early Teleri poems.

Findekáno still full of energy, keeps pulling Maitimo’s hair and wants to braid it as well. Maitimo relents and lets his little cousin’s clumsy fingers snag his hair in a bird’s nest. He looks tired, Curufinwë observes distractedly. He is making calculations on ore density and pressure at low temperatures.

Soon, Maitimo’s eyes start glazing over and Findekáno starts braiding their hair together. Then he also falls asleep in his lap, red and black hair in one big tangle.

* * *

At Telperion’s light, when Maitimo wakes up again, he yanks Findekáno who yelps and flails, making Maitimo fall back and Findekáno, elbows flailing, manages to hit him squarely in the solar plexus.

`Such grace`, Tyelko drawls from his place next to Arafinwë who seems like he will fall asleep at any moment.

Tyelko's eyes are clear and bright as always. He now turns his gaze to his younger brother. `What’s wrong, _ton’ya_?`, he teases. `Not like you to stay so silent`.

Curufinwë bristles. `Nothing’s wrong`.

Tyelkormo leans in conspiratorially to Arafinwë and tells him something, making the other’s eyes shine with laughter. Again, Curufinwë envies his older’s brother talent of whispering in a silent room with the other participants none the wiser.

`A hero always starts his journey alone, or with some less known companions`, Maitimo says loudly, gravely, apparently to some question from Findekáno. Probably from their failed attempt to sneak away.

`What does a hero need`? Findekáno asks eyes wide. Arafinwë fails to look uninterested and Curufinwë grins.

`He needs a good knife, a harp and a friend` Maitimo replies, winking at them.

Just then, Fëanor comes in and Arafinwë respectfully gets up and bows, but automatically greets him with `Lau`. Fëanor freezes and Arafinwë looks around, colours slightly and changes to `Telpe`. Fëanor throws a look to Tyelko and then returns his greeting with a more formal `Aiya`. Findekáno simply waves at him, still mostly entangled in Maitimo’s hair.

There's a short expectant silence. Seeing the unexpected additions, Fëanor seems to have forgotten why he was here.

`May I accompany Curufinwë during his trip to Alqualonde?` Arafinwë bursts out unexpectedly.

All eyes turn to him and he squares his shoulders defiantly.

`Why do you ask _me_?` Fëanor asks him, his voice commanding. Tyelko and Maitimo wince in sympathy but are smiling slightly. `My son has had his feast of majority, he can decide for himself`.

Arafinwë hunches his shoulders slightly and looks crestfallen. He opens his mouth but no words come out.

` _He probably wants to ask permission from his yára háno_ `, Curufinwë replies distractedly.

His father’s burning gaze turns towards him and he remembers that their father has always cracked their invented languages immediately.

`If he agrees, I shall not be against it`, he replies in the end, dismissing his little brother and turning to Maitimo.

Arafinwë smiles brightly and dances on the spot, almost throwing himself into Fëanor’s arms. In the end Arafinwë still hugs him, surprising Fëanor, and beams up at him. His hair and eyes shine brightly in Telperion’s light. Fëanor looks slightly unsettled.

`Do you have a new project in mind?` his father asks, turning his eyes towards Curufinwë, looking for a distraction.

`Yes`, Curufinwë replies curtly, deep in calculations. He thinks he knows how to make the left side of the mountains now.

`What kind of project?`, his father asks again.

`A mistake` Curufinwë replies absently.

Fëanor shares a look with Tyelko who grins.

Curufinwë feels his heart sink. Tyelko has always been better at ferreting out everything from him despite being only a little older. Somehow he seems wise beyond his years. Now Tyelko will definitely stalk him with the patience of a predator, waiting for him to slip and confess.

`I look forward to hear about it`, his father says, smiling knowingly. Tyelko grins and nods at the same time Curufinwë nods unenthusiastically.

`It is nothing of import`, He replies then turns to his father. `More importantly`, he adds, ` _atya_ -`

A beat of wings makes him stop. A small hawk has perched on the windowsill and Tyelko jumps, the previous languor gone. He’s a buzzing ball of energy, moving purposefully in the room.

`I was called on a Hunt! I need to go take my company. But before that, I need to go take my weapons`, he announces exuberantly, the prospect of the Hunt making his eyes shine brighter than the stars.

`Good hunting!` Fëanor tells him, clasping his son’s shoulder.

`Thank you, Father!` Tyelko replies, still for one second, gazing seriously in his father’s eyes.

`Good hunting, _ton’ya_ `, Maitimo teases, and Curufin echoes him. Arafinwë looks at Tyelko with his eyes shining while Findekáno begs him to bring them something from his travels.

`Do you still need other weapons?`, Curufinwë asks him innocently. `If you take any more with you, I fear you won’t be able to move anymore. Or are you going to scare all prey away with your clanging?`

His older brother throws him a disgusted look then turns to his cousin and uncle. Tyelko nods at their questions, ruffles their hair then swoops them both in his arms and rushes outside with both of them.

He effectively took out the disruptions, while making everybody happy, Curufinwë remarks silently. Tyelko was always a better diplomat than many gave him credit for. He sighs and his father’s eyes go back to him, cutting his conversation with Maitimo.

`What’s wrong?`

`Nothing`, Curufinwë replies again. `I won’t go to the jewellery work space now. I need to check a few things`.

`Do you want me to check on you later?` Fëanor asks him, and Curufinwë shrugs.

An unknown length of time later (it’s actually four blooms of Laurelin, but it feels more dramatic to think like that) Curufinwë looks frustrated at the heap of failed experiments in front of him. He can’t seem to make it work the same as her confectionery. His left fingers still sting.

* * *

Fëanor is getting concerned his son is making weapons of mass destruction and messing with structures at a molecular level without proper supervision.

After a while, he starts diving into nuclear and molecular theory at family dinners to give him pointers. He can’t resist and also starts experimenting in the same vein but only makes some offhand comments so as not to disturb his son. He knows Atarinkë is good enough. He is proud of him. (And maybe a bit scared he is going to hurt himself if not properly supervised. He had Mahtan right?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon Maitimo as being a bit older than Fingolfin, since Feanor married as soon as he could (maybe even at 50 or so), and probably had a kid as soon as he could.
> 
> Makalaure is born after Maitimo becomes of age.
> 
> Tyelkormo and Curufinwe are born very close (about 3 yrs), so they have a special relationship.
> 
> Language notes: I (arbitrarily) decided that yára háno and vinya háno are the more formal terms. These divisions are extremly important while they are younger; after enough time passes, these differences do not seem as important anymore and the elves might use the more neutral háno (brother). Curufin teases Tyelko, his closest brother (3 yrs difference), calling him with the more formal hello, and also ancient brother . His older brothers call him in their own coined term, ton'ya.
> 
> Worldbuilding expansion:
> 
> Noldor love building stuff. As such, they might build arches, bridges, houses, open houses etc. by themselves or in a team, and they are used as a public space where everybody might contribute with something. While there are certain groups that gravitate towards certain pavilions (word used loosely to describe any arranged public space), you are welcome everywhere. You must bring something though. 
> 
> Maitimo has a small house in neighbourhood where people keep their places smaller, more `cramped'. These are private residences, away from the big, official ones with the household staff.  
> Maitimo is the son of a High Prince, so he has his own household staff and retainers. The difference in aquiring these is that since elves live so long and are in a perfect environment, the potential employer (senior) has to personally convince the staff to come and work for him and wear his livery. Since they are in a peaceful environment, they don't have guards per se, but there is a body of retainers with different functions. Again, as a Prince, you have to convince them to swear fealty to you.
> 
> These will be explained and developed in time in the story as well.


	7. Sirmë interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might need to beta it again, apologies for eventual mistakes in the interludes.

Four seasons later she goes to her usual pavilion, The White Flower-Star, for her monthly taste test with her friend. It had just rained and the smells are stronger, the city’s song louder now from all the running gutters.

She weaves between low tables with glittering cups arranged in a galaxy pattern, nimbly climbs the spiralled cords sculpted in Taaffeite and Poudretteite twisting around an invisible axis and finally arrives at her destination, under the eaves of the roof, where she finds their usual perch in the southern corner, under the gutter. The gutter, a blooming starflower, has become a waterfall.

`Ala, Sirmë ! I’m ready to put my life down in the name of your art. Again. I wrote my last greetings to my family, they’re in my room. If I don’t make it, you can have my-`

`Ala, Celosse! I promise, things are different from last time. No life-threatening peril today`.

`What about non-life-threatening peril then? Is that still on?`

Sirmë grins. `Now, that would be telling. Here!`

`So, rocks from the snow torrents of North-West Pelori, some from the river behind my family’s house and other random ones. My teeth are going to hurt`.

`All five of them are cakes. Look at them and try to guess what they represent and then how they’d taste`.

`Unusual for you to give details`. Celosse looks at her suspiciously. Sirmë smiles encouragingly.

`Does this have a specific order or something?` Celosse asks, eyes narrowing.

Sirmë shrugs.

Celosse sighs then looks at the five smooth rocks and picks the third largest one. `Winter` she says. ‘Snow, cold, maybe a hot meal. Sweet` She carefully cuts it. The inside is pinkish veined with a white, frothy sponge layer followed by four uneven layers of cream and a black centre. She bites and she feels the hot spicy layers, tastes the salty sponge and just when she feels her mouth will start burning for real, the black centre ices her over. Celosse muffles a scream and desperately tries to dislodge her brain freeze.

She takes the familiar greenish rock. `Rushing water, cool, minty flavour with a hint of sunshine; pale yellow lemony taste`, she rattles grimly. `A quiet day at home`. She bites into it without watching Sirmë ’s reaction to her words.

The greenish layers give the feeling of home, a quiet day of study; the darker blue veins, an icy thunderstorm.

`What was that?` Celosse asks in a strangled voice. `You just shocked me`.

`Expected only a quiet day, didn’t you? Sirmë asks delighted. `Try this one next`, she adds.

It’s a rock that looks like it was made from dirt. Celosse takes it and immediately grimaces. The inside is grainy, tastes of dirt, moss, and forest leaves, and takes all moisture from her mouth. When she almost chokes, the thick molasses centre spreads, salty sweet, then savoury, followed by an aftertaste of burnt caramel, and finally campfire smoke.

Celosse takes the pale green one next, chews and swallows with a bewildered expression.  
  
`This was only a normal sponge cake with green tea. It is good, but what is special about it?`

`Did not expect that didn’t you?`, Sirmë asks her innocently. `You’ll see after you drink`.

Celosse stretches her hand and takes some water from the flowing gutter. She swallows and flower song bursts from fields in spring. After another gulp, she tastes the pine forests in summer, followed by the rich sweetness of the jungle fruits. Lastly, winter is not snow and ice, but the briny sea, fat and blood welling in her throat. Celosse wipes her mouth. `How long are these after-tastes going to last?` she asks calmly.

`…a while`, Sirmë replies guiltily. `It also depends on what you ate in the past few days…`

Celosse raises an eyebrow. `Now I’m almost afraid to drink`.

`Oh, you get after tastes after a significant amount of saliva goes through your mouth`.

`So I’ll get random after tastes for a while?` she asks incredulously. ‘I have a meeting with my master to discuss my final project in smithing. If I start spitting fire or faint or gag in front of him it’s over`.

Sirmë looks at her guiltily and Celosse shakes her head. `I am down for it, you know, no regrets here. But what made you try this? You seem a bit more vicious than usual`.

`A bit?`

`Only a bit`, Celosse grins. `Did anything happen? I see you started on geology now, but I thought you were interested in studying crystals, not pebbles`.

`Yes well`, Sirmë grimaces, `I got an…interruption during my first experiment`.

`And?`

`And…` she huffs, irritated. `It was hard to stop thinking about it`.

`It?`

`The interaction`, she explodes. `It pissed me off so much. He _looked_ at my experiment without my permission, he started commenting without understanding what I wanted to do, he kept trying to tell me the _density_ is not correct, that the peaks are not in alignment, as if I had _those_ things in mind. Oh, and he thought I was _showcasing`_ , she adds venomously.

Celosse blinks. `Are you obsessed or did you fall in love?`

Sirmë sighs, untwisting her hair violently. `Obsession I agree. I need to move on. I have a life and it doesn’t revolve around him. I am sure he forgot about it already`.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celosse = See the Snow (she was born on the mountain, in winter)


	8. Second meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most romantic setting I could think of: dark with dim lights. Yes, the sewers. Something I haven’t seen discussed at all. So I’ll do it. They will also have company. Because we know they need the audience. And since I am all for equality, this time it will be Sirmë’s turn to interrupt Curufin.

Sirmë walks the dimmest parts of the sewers in Tirion. They look closer to caves in parts, dark and more humid than the city above. The hidden depths hide a fascinating variety of flora and fauna, perfect for experimenting with. The walls have dim gems giving them faint lights here and there but the fungi have taken the role of illuminators here.

She had been coming here for a while, observing the different variety of fluorescent fungi and lichen, cataloguing their proprieties and studying their life cycle and method of spreading. She had found at least forty new varieties there the last time she was there. Now she walks them with Fannon, her cousin.

Fannon announces her he can see in the deeper channels some varieties of coral as well as saltwater fish and water salamanders.

Sirmë nods and thinks of new recipes. 

Their goal for today is a low wall where the waste pipes from the eastern workshops seemed to leak a bit. A full new variety of fungi and lichen had veritably exploded over there, probably influenced by the waste from workshops. She can’t wait to take a few samples and taste them to see what changes have been wrought on them.

On arriving there, they meet a full team working to destroy the habitat.

  
`We’re fixing the leaks`, someone informs them. `Please take another route`.

Sirmë sighs. `Do you have any whole samples?`

  
`Samples of what?` the other asks.

  
`Fungi, lichen, cave-beetles`, she replies.

`What is the delay?` another voice asks and Sirmë instinctively lowers her head so that the other can’t meet her eyes. It’s _him._

`Someone wants to check the filtering plant specimens growing on and around the leakage area`, the first one informs him. 

He recognises her as well, because she hears a sharp intake of breath then she sees him gesturing somewhere behind him. 

`You can search in that pile and see if you can find any good ones. We haven’t disposed of them yet. Be careful in the work area`, he adds then turns and melts back in the bustle of activity around the wall.

Sirmë goes to the pile and starts sorting salvageable specimens, followed by Fannon who is responsible for the actual scientific cataloguing.

She can’t resist and tastes a few. Her mouth and lips start burning after sampling a yellow-greenish one and Fannon pauses from his silent appraisal to inform Sirmë her mouth took on the lichen’s fluorescent proprieties and she should be careful it didn’t leave any spores if it’s the type that clings on surfaces, because her mouth might just be the closest thing to the humidity and warmth of the leakage area and she might just become a colony. 

At this, all background noise stops and everybody turns to them in unison. 

  
`Did you _eat_ the waste filters?` she hears an incredulous voice.

Sirmë’s mouth burns and she feels insects crawling under her skin and in her eyes.   
`It has some sort of neuro-toxin`, she replies instead. `If I eat another hyphae maybe I can identify the-`

  
`Lùthaion, please escort her to a healer, preferably a maia`, the ellon replies instead, covering his nose and mouth. His clothes are dark and sturdy, devoid of any insignia. `Cover your airways, some fungi have started releasing spores and we don’t know their full effects`, he adds pointedly to her.

`Oh, they aren’t life threatening`, Sirmë replies cheerfully. `I got used to it after a while. You will cough them all out. Eventually` she adds. The gems in the workers’ hands shine even brighter at her words. 

`Now, before she has to stay in Irmo’s care!`, the bane of her existence (or just her geological creations) says with a strong authoritative voice, brooking no argument. A failing pipe cracks and waste rushes out so the workers all hurry into action to stop it from spreading. Making and mending songs echo in the tunnels and the fungi and lichen respond as well, dimming.

Lùthaion goes to her and carefully offers her his arm. Fannon starts to protest that he and Sirmë can go by themselves, at which the ellon stops singing for a beat and asks them if they have any intention of going to a healer immediately or after they wander the sewers until Laurelin starts to bloom and both cousins startle guiltily.

 _`Out`,_ he tells them flatly then resumes his song. And so they go.

* * *

`This experiment was a bust`, Fannon tells her sadly. `We couldn’t follow the changes because they started to fix it too quickly. Maybe if we can find another leak-` he starts speculatively, eyes gleaming when Lùthaion turns to him and continues flatly:`You will announce it immediately to an engineer or an architect, **not** to your cousin, Fannon`.

`I see my reputation has preceded me`, Sirmë replies grinning, the fluorescent effect of the ingested lichen somewhat lost since they are not underground anymore. The soft light of Telperion still it gives a pretty effect. Her head has started pounding as well and some of her muscles have started spasming. It is almost as bad as that time she ate a whole balloon fish to see if she could trace its toxin’s progress in her body and stop it with various other toxins. That experiment had been a success. 

`I just need-` she starts and coughs. Fungus spores fly out of her mouth and Lùthaion immediately uses a bright gem and burns them in the air immediately.   
`-a maia healer`, he replies grimly. He takes Sirmë in his arms and starts running, Fannon on his heels, both cousins trying to convince him about the importance of non-interfering with their experiments all the way to the healing ward.

* * *

`We neet to change the waste filters to something inorganic, father`, Curufinwe tells Fëanor after his report. 

`Why?` he asks, curiously. `The current system works perfectly well. The fungi and lichen filter the waste and keep most toxins and chemical waste from spreading in water and air, the rest are taken by the corals and the small algae. The cave-beetles eat the fungi, the salamanders eat the cave beetles, the fishes also eat the salamanders. It’s a thriving ecosystem there, why change it?`

`A bit too thriving`, Curufinwë murmures. `What if a child goes there and starts eating the waste filters and gets sick?`

Feanor raiaes an eyebrow. `A child would know better than to eat a glowing fungi`.

Curufinwë presses his fingers to his eyebrows and sighs frustrated. ‘You would reasonably think so, no?’

He looks to his father and suddenly grins. `Imagine your youngest child, at five years old, in the sewers`.

`My children are all adults`, Feanor replies.

`I’m talking about your next one`, Curufinwë replies smugly. `I know you started discussing it with ammë. And I know both of you are deep in thought about him`.

His father’s face lights up and he laughs. `My little Atarinkë`, he says embracing him.` Don’t worry`, he adds, `you will also become a responsible older brother and you’ll make sure he doesn’t eat any glowing fungi`.

He stops for a beat, then adds. `I don’t think anybody would, to be honest. They were designed specifically to look as unappetising as possible. The taste is also quite bad, I assure you. Like bad chemicals and decomposing mulch. And they tend to stick on you and colonise, but you cough them all in the end`, his father adds soothingly.  
`You didn’t inhale any spores though, did you?`

`How do you know the symptoms of spore inhalation?` Curufinwë asks him suspiciously.

Feanor looks at him eyes laughing merrily, slaps his back and leaves.

`Atya!` Curufins shouts after him exasperated, ‘I can’t believe you did it as well’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the beauty of Noontime Valinor. Too bad it won't last.
> 
> Guess who would approve of Sirme's experiments.
> 
> I see Feanor as getting in a reckless stage after Finew married Indis. After he married Nerdanel, she put him straight. And he is very concerned about the safety of his own children. Feanor is still quite young himself.
> 
> Sirme mainly explores the world through taste and textures then smell, sight, sound.  
> Curufin is a bit different.


	9. Aquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curufin finds out who she is and graciously introduces himself.

Sirmë looks at the messenger. The messenger bows and gives her a letter with Curufinwë Fëanorian’s insignia. Bemused, she takes it and opens it with a sliver of trepidation.

As she scans it, she sees diagrams and formulas concerning the study of crystals and sugars’ hardening processes, as well as rock strata diagrams with name indicators for each.

She frowns. The ink shimmers and blurs before her and she wipes at her eyes but they are dry. The ink lights up and disappears with a flash, a puff and a scented curl of smoke. She almost throws the paper away but it was a non-thermal reaction. The paper, and her hands, are not hurt at all. She scowls, his challenge clear.

The messenger clears his throat and she remembers him.

`What is it, Ranyaion`, Sirmë asks him, flatly.

Ranyaion silently holds out other papers, bound together to create a small booklet.

`Do I need to answer to any of these?` she asks him.

`I was not given instructions to wait`, Ranyaion replies formally, bows again and leaves.  
  


The cover is dark brown, soft, with a lovely texture similar to moleskin. She opens it and she seen diagrams, pictures and short sentences written in the simplest form of language, detailing basic safety regulations.

’One should not put their hand in boiling water’, is written next to a picture of a child with red hands, crying dramatically next to a boiling pot. ‘One should not eat inedible materials, or things with these particular colours’. Next page there’s a spreadsheet with a child with various types of cramps, vomiting, fainting, screaming or doubling over in pain.

Sirmë snaps it shut and tries to burn them. They don’t even get scorched. She next tries acids, going from milder ones to concentrated nitric acid, but even then it doesn’t change.

She feels her eye twitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the theory of the Six degrees of separation which states that any inhabitant of the Earth could meet anyone in the world with a maximum of six or fewer mutual connections between them and another person. Be it through acquaintances, friends, or members of their family.
> 
> With elves, you definitely have a friend who knows a friend who has a friend who knows anybody. 
> 
> Here it went Curufin- Luthaion - Fannon -Sirme (- means knows the next person)


	10. Chapter 10

Two days later, when her older sister comes to visit her, after the first few pleasantries she asks Sirmë directly.

`I heard you received a messenger from Curufinwë Fëanorian. A project invitation or an invitation to join the household?’

Sirmë gives her the booklet. Nehtë looks at it and taps a finger to the fine insignia engraved in the cover.

`You can gift it to Rúna. It would be helpful for him`.

`Are you sure you want to give it away?’, Nehtë asks, opening it and starts reading, eyebrows rising more and more. `I see you two have crossed paths. Curufinwë Fëanorian seems to think this would be perfect for _you`_ , she says amused. `You shouldn’t immediately give away a gift. Not to mention, Rúna would destroy it in less than two days`.

`It’s made to withstand intense damage, perfect for kids to play with`, Sirmë assures her. `Trust me, I _checked_ `.

`Ranyaion told me you had received a separate letter as well`, a voice calls from her window. Fannon deftly shimmies in, a basket in his hands. `Ala, Nehtë-në, Sirmë! Where is it?`

Sirmë gestures towards a glass bowl arrangement with rocks covered in moss and wild rock-flowers growing on the sides. ‘It made for a great base`, she says.

`Shouldn’t you reply?` Fannon asks her, sitting himself on a low cushion and popping some herb and butter pastries in his mouth.

Sirmë steeples her fingers and shakes her head. `No. Knowing him, ignoring his message will deal more damage than every clever reply I could send right now. Better wait for him to become restless and then make my move on my own terms`.

`He is Fëanor’s son`, her sister cautions her.

`So he is to be feared because of his position? Because I might have problems if I want to involve myself in academic circles?` Sirmë asks her, eyes narrowed.

`No`, Fannon replies, `just that he’s the son of someone who almost started a war from the change from _þ_ to s, _þ_ irmë`, he adds gleefully.

`Don’t worry, I’ll be ready`, she replies unconcerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:  
> Rúna: Free, Nehtë’s three year old son  
> Nehtë: Woman who slays, Slayer, Sirmë’s older sister
> 
> Language:  
> Fannon calls Nehtë, Nehtë-në, from onónë- sister, kinswoman. Term of endearment, respect, non-standard language. (invented forms)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third meeting is on Sirmë’s territory.

In the Red Gems’s Pavilion, a project in which both her mother and sister were involved, Sirmë waits for the sixth bloom of Laurelin in a row for Curufinwë to take the bite and appear.

She has a contraption with moving arms up and down in circular motions, describing planetary movements. Only, instead of stars and planets it has colourful small desserts and aperitifs.

Curufinwë finally appears in front of her, clothes matching the interior design. His hands are gloved. `Aiya Sirmë Lindaneriel. Moved on from geology already? You’ll never succeed this way`, he tells her in sincere tones.

Sirmë cocks her ears. She doesn’t look at his face to see his expression but he is oozing sincerity. A bit too much of it. The air around him tastes too charged.

`Aiya, Curufinwë Fëanorian`, she replies smiling thinly, eyes almost closed in fake delight and invites him to try them.

`From where should I start?’, he asks warily.

`Wherever you want`, she replies gleefully. `You need to eat all of them though. They contain both poison and antidote. The trick is to eat them in the correct order`.

He raises an eyebrow at that and bites a scathing retort, then chooses an airy gold cloud-like confectionery.

It has contact poison affecting the respiratory muscles. He should take the green mossy cube next.

He hesitates on the next one, fingers slowly turning the contraption, making for a dizzying dance of stars and planets. She hums a song and they start orbiting around each other, each in their own orbit, their own speed. It looks chaotic but she has hidden clues there. She wonders if he can solve the puzzle. It is not based on harmony, colour, speed or relative trajectory.

It is the perfect trap for overthinking types. The rules are simple: take the next one from their beginning position.

He makes some brilliant deductions and calculations and takes a wrong one. And another wrong one. He keeps piling poisons that do not nullify each other and she is starting to get worried he might just be seriously hurt himself if he continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin addresses her formally making refernce to both her and her father's name (Lindaner). It can be open to interpretation if it's polite or a threat.


	12. Chapter 12

`That particular shade of red becomes you`, she tells him pointedly and Curufinwë takes the hint and eats the small red planet. Then, he seems to have figured it out, because he finally starts to take them in the correct order.

He gets cocky and even smug. His face has lost some of its bluish sheen. His hands are not trembling as much and his coughs have subsided to acceptable levels. The wheezing breath is also less noticeable. He is safe, his pulse mostly returned to normal.

He confidently eats the last one. It is a purgative and he vomits everything. Sirmë keeps her expression bland and helps him sit.

Sirmë gives him a tonic, specifically made to replenish lost minerals and he lays down on the bench next to her. She grimaces. He should have left.

`Should I call for someone to take you away?`, she asks him politely.

`I am fine`, Curufinwë replies in a hoarse, scratchy voice. He had taken off his dirty gloves.

She taps his purplish nail. `You should drink this tea`.

`Another purgative?`, he asks, shifting to see her face.

Sirmë turns her head slightly. `A restorative`, she replies.

He hums, lightly, lazily and she feels an uncomfortable warmth coiled in her stomach. She squashes the feeling of guilt by offering him more tea and checking his evolution.

His clothes have a subtle design. She follows an abstract pattern up a sleeve, going up the left shoulder where she sees the eight pointed star sewn on, thin gold and red thread almost invisible. Small gems are splattered on the opposite side, the spring stars seen from the western side of the Pelori. She stops at the hollow of his throat and follows the spiralling patterns downwards.

She hears a soft sigh but chalks it to the effects of the various medications she has forced into him and stay in silence until the mingling of Telperion and Laurelin.

He is perfectly fine now, all vestiges of poison having left his body. She tells him as much and ostentatiously prepares to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirmë's definition of `safe` is ` not in immediate mortal danger`.


	13. Chapter 13

Three young people approach their spot, laughing. 

`Ala, Sirmë Raxcaiel. Did you get a new friend?` One of the newcomers asks.

Curufinwë gets up and bows slightly, with a general `Aiya, namarië`.

`Ala, Curufinwë. So, how did you two met?’, Celosse asks him, grinning.

`I tried to offer some...constructive criticism which was not taken very well considering my burns`, he replies, glancing at Sirmë.

`That’s _it_?`, the first one replies incredulously. At Curufinwë’s startled expression, he starts laughing even harder. `That’s mild. When she met Thúle here`, he says nodding towards the last ellon, `he punched her in the face`.

`She gave me a pastry that tasted like vomit. And I was five`. Thúle protests. He throws Sirmë a package with a wink. She grins and waggles her eyebrows.

`You insulted my sister`, Sirmë replies, grinning.

`And you also broke my wrist`, Thúle replies. `Was it any good?` he asks, spinning the now empty contraption.

`Perfect`, she replies.

`Are _we_ friends then?` Curufinwë asks her. Celosse and the first ellon got caught in a debate concerning the shades of red in the column and Thúle has started fiddling with the display.

`Aquaintances`, she replies.

`...I’m intrigued`, Curufinwë tells her, his tone vapid.

Sirmë scoots away. `Really?` She asks flatly. `How so?`

`It’s like watching a failing pipe full of volatile chemical waste. You know it’s ruined, it’s useless and it’s going to explode spectacularly but you can’t help but watch in fascination, wondering how it will crash and burn`.

Sirmë rolls her eyes but can’t completely hide the twitch in her cheek so Curufinwë grins. `Unfortunately, I will go visit my cousin’s family in Alqualonde so you won’t get the occasion to observe any explosions`.

`I am, incidentally, also going there`, Curufinwë replies, adjusting his clothes and carefully wrapping his ruined doublet on his arm. Her friends murmur some farewells and leave. Sirmë throws them a dirty look, then turns towards Curufinwë and inclines her head.

`The road is the same. Maybe we’ll meet`, he adds.

`I doubt it`, she replies.

`There’s only one way`, Curufinwë informs her.

Sirmë looks at him pityingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because I'm too stupid to wait until tomorrow with a finished chapter...
> 
> Curufinwe found out he is not so special after all concerning his first metting with Sirme.
> 
> From the greeting it is quite evident Celosse knows Curufinwe. SInce they are in a public pavilion, rules are slightly different. They do not necessarily need to introduce themselves. Now, Curufinwe also jumping introductions and calling Sirme by her name and her father's name without having a formal introduction is indeed quite bad, since she is not a public personality. (exasperated random people do not count).
> 
> Thúle (Wind), has the s from telerin, identical to the one in old Quenia that Serinde (Feanor's mother) also had. He is full telerin.
> 
> Raxcaiel (Danger's daughter), is his nickname for Sirme. He does not consider Lindanier as her father.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory beach episode.

Their next chance meeting is on a small inlet beach, a couple of hours away from the city of Alqualonde. Sirmë has put a folding table close to the sea and she has started experimenting with the fermentation process in sweet-bread in those particular conditions. She wonders if it’ll have the sea-longing, the salty aftertaste of waves, or a glimmer of fish-scales behind the eyelids after eating it. It’s evening and crystal jellyfish dot the small waves, with luminous small-rounded jellyfish here and there.

Curufinwë has wandered in on that strip during his usual search for gems left there during childhood family trips. Both are so absorbed they almost miss each-other. A soft exclamation on his part, as he finds a saltwater yellow pearl makes her raise her head a fraction and then they see the other.

They both give a nod of acknowledgement then turn each to his business.

When Laurelin has half-way bloomed, he returns and approaches her table. Sirmë is on her fourth batch of fermented sweet-bread. She has also improvised a small oven and the smells have wandered out into the sea. `Fresh, salty, sweet`, she thinks. `Colour yellowish-white like the sand, texture rich but not too thick. It still misses something`.

On seeing him, she waves him over. `Aiya, namarië`, she tells him cheerfully.

Curufinwë returns her greeting, bowing slightly. His clothes are now full of diamond-dust and white sand shimmering faintly. `Try these`, she invites him, gesturing to the three baskets full of sea-creatures-shaped breads, ‘I need a second opinion’.

`Do they have sharp gems hidden inside?`, he asks idly, fingering a sea-bream shaped one. The thin crust gives away easily, flaking like scales.

`You like gems so much you wish to eat them?`, Sirmë replies. She rummages under the table and takes out a small box from her bag and opens it.

`Here, a new game for you`, she tells him before he can reply. `I think you wish to have a second chance at winning`, she adds innocently. `Which gem is fake and which is real?`, she asks, showing him the box full of colourful gemstones.

`You can only use sight to guess`, she adds, and Curufinwë’s hand, who had been hovering over the box, retreats and lets the tips of his fingers rest on the table top instead.

`May I touch the box, then?` he asks. `Or I can only watch them from this angle?`

Sirmë nods her assent and he carefully takes the box and starts peering at the inside.

`None of them is a real gem`, he observes after a short observation. He sounds disappointed. He looks at her for confirmation and she hums, head still slightly down. It’s easy to avoid his gaze since he’s a bit taller.

`The cut is also-` he starts, frustrated, then he stops. `You haven’t had any formal lessons in cutting gems yet?`

`Not really`, Sirmë shrugs.

The ensuing silence can be only interpreted as horrified. She almost laughs at the way his buzz screeches to a halt, his incomprehension evident through his stance and breathing.

`I was more interested in natural rock formations`, she says mildly.

` _Were you really?`_ she hears him murmur under his breath.

`Sometimes`, she tells him, `I wish to show the impossible`.

At this he stills, opens his mouth to start a counter argument no doubt, but her attention is already wavering from him and to her project. The bacteria have started to multiply in a different pattern now and soon she’ll have some interesting changes happening inside.

Curufinwë starts checking his sleeves, his chest pockets, taking out various small pouches, random lengths of thin silver chains, small gemstones, instruments for making jewellery and puts them on her table, taking over half of her space. Then he starts working on his own project.

He starts weaving deftly the chains with gemstones and the bits and pieces he takes out of his clothes. Now and then he repurposes some of his own jewellery. He seems to have forgotten about her.

Finally he presents to her a shimmering hairnet.

`You can use it to keep your hair out of the way `, he tells her curtly. `I’ll also leave you some of these`, he says putting down his necklace and some random gems, not yet mounted on anything. Clear gems absorb and reflect Laurelin’s light, magnifying it tenfold and yet not painful for the eye. `They’re cut correctly, and you can use them as reference`.

He leaves and she processes what he did and said only after the first batch of fermentation is over, eight hours after he had left. It’s too late to give him something in exchange.

She takes them and decides to make an exact replica from edible materials, one even he wouldn’t recognise from the real one. She will play the game to his rules and win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An almost friendly conversation. Would things go smoothly from now on? (...)
> 
> On Curufin giving her the hairnet and the other gems, no he's not in love with her yet.  
> Elves gave away gifts very easily, especially in Valinor. The teleri started throwing the noldor's gems on the beaches and in their fountains, they received that many. (Or were the noldo the most generous?). Curufin also feels very affronted a noldo doesn't have a solid grasp on gem-cutting.
> 
> Curufin is raised like a prince: for a prince, giving of gifts shows how good a provider he is, shows his status. Largesse is important. He can also get her to be part of his household, thus making Sirmë an asset. 
> 
> Curufin is also not stupid, he has a very subtle game going. 
> 
> Jellyfish are beautiful (and poisonous), go look at them :).
> 
> Sirmë is very careful she doesn't meet his gaze eye to eye. Also, because she is always making sometimes when they meet, he had never seen her hair either. This has to do with Curufin's primary sense in world perception, which she realised quite quickly. (it's sight, texture, sound, for him). She is withhelding this information simply to piss him off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirme's day does not go over exactly as planned.

The next few star-dances Sirmë looks for him on the beach, roams the city streets but cannot find him. After the fourth cycle of futile search she feels like slapping herself. Of course! She should be searching in the shipyard, or in the architect’s pavilion or even in the sewers.

She climbs the wall nimbly, going for the straight route and crosses the city over walls and spires, jumping and passing through spraying fountains, going towards the architects’ pavilion: a sprawling complex of terraced gardens and white fountains.

Unlike in Tirion, she’s not the only one doing it. In the city of sailors everybody loves climbing and hopping from one perch to another, even on land. Two times she times her jumps wrong and almost crashes into another hurried climber. She apologises and starts moving a bit more carefully.

She finally sees him walking along the eastern terraced gardens with others. Graceful columns and huge fountains mist the air, making for poor visibility. She nimbly approaches as much as she dares and takes out her message. It’s inside a rock-egg candy.

She plans to throw it somewhere in his vicinity. He definitely has a hammer so he should have no problem breaking it and reading her message. Failing that, a small nugget inside will eventually combust and create enough energy to crack the egg for him.

She takes a small wide wooden racket and punts it towards him.

It’s caught by a teleri walking the outer part of the wall. He looks around, sees her and throws it back to her in a straight line.

Sirmë hurriedly takes out Curufinwë’s hairnet and uses it to catch her egg. The force of the throw strains her hands and the thin netting cuts into her fingers, blood welling and dripping in thin streams along the strands.

She wipes her hands and searches for another position. She circles and hops on an adjacent wall and runs along it hopping from wall to wall in an inward spiral, going towards the centre of the gardens. Finally she spots him again and prepares to throw with an improvised sling.

The same teleri deflects it and the egg falls down, cracking on the pavement below. Sirmë eyes its drop. _So it doesn’t resist from a fall more than 50 metres_ , she thinks.

She takes a few steps back, runs and jumps on the other wall, close to the teleri. She is tethering on the edge, her hands gripping the wall edge while her feet are propping her weight on the flat drop.

‘Could you let me send my message already?’ She asks him politely, looking up at him.

`Attacking Curufinwë Fëanorian?` He asks severely.

Sirmë huffs. ‘I simply need to give him an invitation’.

`Why not use the messengers? Even a gull? The proper channels`, he replies, stressing the word `proper` and making her wince.

`Gulls are too chatty`, she tells him. `And it is too...`

`Normal?` He inserts, eyebrow raised.

`To send a message like that`, she finishes.

His braid swishes as he comes closer. Sirmë makes to swing over but he puts two fingers on her forehead and presses her head back. The push is gentle but hides the threat of bowling her over.

`Try a more conventional method, girl`. He tells her calmly. `At least where I’m around`, he adds, leaning comfortably over her, watching something over her shoulder.

His shark-teeth necklace grins perilously close to her face.

`See`, he tells her nonchalantly, `he has found your message anyway`. He straightens back and leaves with a bow and a ‘namarië’.

Sirmë looks down as well. Curufinwë is indeed there and is examining the contents. Unfortunately, he seems too interested in the broken shell and the explosive component to see her message.

He takes the little ball, throws it in the air, high, and sings a sharp song of release. The ball explodes close to her leg and she yelps.

Curufinwë raises his head, affecting surprise.

`Wait!` She shouts at him. She scrambles up the wall, rips a piece of her skirt and writes a quick scrambled message in shorthand. The message, written in squid ink is glistening darkly on her dark blue skirt.

‘Let’s meet coincidentally on the beach, at the Moher Towers’, it reads in simple code. He’ll probably decipher it before she gets back to her cousin’s house for dinner.

She wraps it around the first gem she comes across, the tanzanite gem he gave her some blooms ago and lets it fall. She doesn’t wait to see the result but vaults over and stats the way back to her cousin’s house. It would not do to be late to dinner preparations.

Fannon still insists she has no idea how to cook fish properly and she agrees. She’ll get the hang of it eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many coincidental meeting can one have? Not that many, so poor Sirme had to create an occasion.
> 
> Curufin is a prince on a diplomatic trip so of course he would have guards. The teleri take the visit seriously, despite elves being quite carefree over there. Sirme's crazy stunts are exactly how not to approach a public figure. Fortunately for her, Curufin saw her tries and went for it. 
> 
> Sirme had too many things going well for her, so she has to suffer a bit as well.


	16. Chapter 16

She waits ten blooms of Laurelin at the Moher Towers before he comes. The Towers are a small cluster of rocks only twice her height, edges rounded smooth by the wind and the sea. They go progressively smaller the more they are closer to the water. She sits there, hidden between two bigger towers, feet dangling in the water, eating fire crackers and watching the small crabs scurrying around. Now and then a small red and silver fish darts around her toes, hoping to catch a crumb.

A long shadow falls on her.

`Are you eating something made from poisonous mushrooms?` he asks her from the top of the rocks.

`Nothing as exciting as that`, Sirmë replies, stirring the crackers. They glow like hot embers and seem to almost crackle at her fingers’ passing.`Would you dare try one?` she asks, pushing the bag towards him. He jumps on a rock next to her, takes the bag and starts analysing the contents.

`They’re just spicy`, she assures him. He glances at her, not completely convinced. `If you can’t handle it`, she says and makes to take the bag away from him. Curufinwë deflects, takes one and bites into it. He feels a soft salty-sweet taste, then a spiciness that mounts and mounts. He starts coughing uncontrollably. Sirmë gives him a bottle of yoghurt and he gulps most of it down. It slides down his throat, cool, creamy, soothing his burns and he’s left with the rich taste of goat milk.

He gives the bottle back, almost empty and she also takes a sip before taking two crackers and cramming them in her mouth. Curufinwë hesitates, then takes two as well. He soon starts choking again, face red and tears streaming on his face. His lips and tongue feel numb and painful at the same time. Sirme laughs good-naturally and Curufinwë laughs and coughs, asking for yoghurt.

`I just finished it`, Sirmë tells him innocently. `It should have lasted for this whole bag`, she adds. 

Curufinwë eyes the sea and seems to seriously consider just drinking it.

` **I** wouldn’t do that`, she tells him.

He glances at her in mock surprise. Sirmë is impressed he can convey such a haughty expression in his condition.

`Atya **did** say to fight fire with fire`, he murmurs thoughtfully and asks for more.

`That’s the spirit`, Sirmë tells him, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirme's actions up to this point (since going to Alqualonde), have not been random. I'm curious if anybody noticed what drove her do things the way she did. If not, I'll post it in the next part.


	17. Chapter 17

After the sky had darkened to a deeper hue and the water turned an oily deep indigo, almost black, they walk together on the beach. The white sand reflects Telperion’s light diffusely, colourful gems strewn here and there sparkling like stars on an inverted sky.

Curufinwë takes out her tanzanite. `Did you not like it?`, he asks her, looking at it critically.

`I just wanted to be extremely certain you’d come`, she tells him, taking it. She rolls it in her palms then throws it in a high arch along the beach. They both follow its comet like trajectory until it plops with a puff of sand and fine diamond dust.

`How many gems have you brought here?` she asks him. `Can you find yours even now?`

`Yes`, he tells her. He does not say how many he had strewn there.

`Look`, he tells her, gesturing towards a cluster some four hundred metres in front. `That bluish one is Maitimo’s. Close to it, the pinkish one is Makalaurë’s. The two green ones a bit further apart are mine. My father has a white one, on the right. Tyelko has a black one, the obsidian`.

`How are they still together?`, she asks him. `It must have been a while`.

`We sang it that way`, he tells her. `They will never be too far apart. We had other projects too`, he continues more excitedly, warming up to the subject. `We made star constellations, or just random ones for hunting later. See? Those three over there, then further on the left the large one and back there are another seven…`

Sirmë cocks her head, considering. `They are quite easy to tell apart, now that I know what to look for`, she informs him.

Curufinwë smirks. `We had a reverse game as well. Atya hid some of ammë’s sculpted rocks and told us to find them. We never found all of them. I still need to find five`, he tells her, watching the sand intently.

Sirmë drifts closer to the edge of the beach, toes the warm waves, feeling the pull of the sea. Fishes bright like stars wink in their depths, shining with their own inner light. She slowly goes deeper into the sea while watching him. He is on his knees, his hands on the gems, searching, sifting through pebbles, sand and rocks. His hands and clothes are again getting covered in white and silver dust.

She longs to go even further in the sea, to watch him from far away and only see a small shining image of a boy searching for treasures on a beach. A flock of gulls fly over calling to each other and she turns fully to the sea and submerges under the water, freeing her hair from her kerchief, letting Curufinwë’s hairnet shine brightly in her dark hair.

She hears distant whale-song and closer, dolphin calls. A coral city stretches before her eyes, before her ears, full of life and colour. She finds a young curious octopus and swims with her a while, carrying it sometimes, letting herself be tugged by the octopus in whatever direction she is going.

In the end, the pressing need for air drives her back to the surface and she takes a moment to orient herself. Curufinwë is small enough to look like a colourful butterfly.

Small waves rock her gently back and forth, swaying her mind on which way to go. A small bump next to her hip reminds her what she has to do.

She hastily puts her kerchief back on and secures it tightly, starts swimming vigorously towards the beach, then starts running as soon as she gets to land, colour and light and the taste of the sea, the wind and sweet grass swirling together. She cartwheels freely, mixing the colours of the two skies in a dizzying kaleidoscope until she gets close to him.

`I have something for you`, she tells him, and gives him a raw gem.

Curufinwë looks at it curiously, surprise etched on his features.

`A raw painite? How did you get it?`, he asks her excited. `It’s such a big gem as well`.

She smiles. He hesitates.

`Is it real?`, Curufinwë asks her, wary now. He looks at it again but cannot see any foul play.

`You are the master jeweller, aren’t you?` she tells him smiling. It threatens to become a smirk so she turns away towards the sea. Far away, sea fireflies have gathered together, creating a fountain of light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally have something resembling a romantic meeting! Too bad they're both too absorbed by different things: Curufin by the search of his mother's rocks (this is actually why they met the first time), and Sirme by the pull of the sea. 
> 
> On Worldbuilding: elves sense the time differently. Sirme has no trouble waiting for him for ten days to appear (last chapter), and now, they didn't feel they have interrupted their conversation, despite both of their detours, which have lasted for a couple of hours. 
> 
> Sirme's motives will be integrated in the following interlude, since it might be better ti have the explanations in text than in footnotes. :)
> 
> Painite is one of the rarest minerals, considered by some to be the rarest mineral found in the earth crust. It is also red or orange-red, and it looks like it will start a fire.


	18. Chapter 18

Three days after their meeting, Sirmë comes to her room to see a small arrangement of delicate buttercups, tansy and salad burnett on sweet grass in a shallow dish. Everything is made to look like a cut taken from the field, easy to put in a garden. She carefully takes it and puts it on her windowsill among her impromptu vertical garden. A blue and black butterfly alights on them, wings beating lazily. She turns and takes the small envelope at the bottom of the dish, wipes away the dirt and reads the invitation. It seems Curufinwë has learned something from her earlier message.

She scans the numbers, diagrams and ecuations and sighs. She’ll be a while to decipher his message.

Four days later she arrives at the small hidden lagoon two days up from Alqualonde, laden with baskets and colourful quilts. Curufinwë is already there.

`Took you long enough to get the location`, he tells her instead of a greeting.

`I needed time to prepare the food`, Sirmë counters undaunted. She puts the baskets down and streches. Her kerchief is a patchwork of thick colorful materials sewn together.

`I brought cheese`, she announces and Curufinwë has a flicker of anticipation.

`Fresh cheese?` he asks when he sees it, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

`We haven’t known each other for long, haven’t we? Matured cheese would imply we know each-other well`, Sirmë replies with a grin.

`Indeed`, he replies, inclining his head towards her.

Sirmë looks at him suspiciously. He is unusually soft. She has played the game of tag long enough to know he does not wish to give up and his new approach puts her on the edge. Or maybe the painite worked its charm.

`I’ve been doing some experiments with matured cheese the past few decades`, she tells him. `If you’re interested, you could try some when you go back to Tirion.`

He nods noncommittally, takes some bread, butters it then spreads the fresh cheese on top slowly, fastidiously, seasons it with pepper, garnishes it with fresh dill and green onion. He bites then sighs in pleasure.

`Does your experimental cheese have things growing in it?` he asks. `Apart from the usual bacteria`, he adds.

`…Mold`, she tells him and he snorts. `I look forward to sampling it`, he says simply and continues eating.

`You really haven’t eaten these past few days?` she asks him suspiciously and he shrugs.

`Figured I’d be able to eat anything you throw at me if I’m hungry enough`, he tells her. `I did invite you to a lunch`.

`And let **me** bring all the food`, she murmurs. She suddenly turns towards him. `Are you challenging me?` she asks delightedly, her glee making him stop chewing.

In the end he swallows and emphatically bites again into the sweet bread in his hands. `You cannot jump from steel to ore`, he tells her calmly. ‘Too late to go back to what was before.’

`Why not?` she asks, goading him.

`You can’t`, he replies frustrated.

`Why not?` she asks him again.

`It’s-` he stops, his cheeks red from indignation. `So obvious why`.

`Why?` she asks him innocently.

He looks at her and bites an impassionate explanation. His hands move emphatically underlining his words. In the end he looks towards her but since he only sees her stance, still not convinced, he exhales and asks her about an equivalent phrase in her terms.

`What would an equivalent be, in your cooking?`, he says.

`Hmm, I don’t have one`, Sirmë replies thoughtfully.

`Searing the meat, seasoning it and then washing it?` he tries. `Cook the fish before gutting and scaling it? Put whole eggs, shell and all, in the batter?`

`I could try them all`, she informs him seriously.

He throws her a venomous look and then changes the subject, having lost the fight.

`Do you have more fire-crackers?` he asks her.

Sirmë finds herself smiling. `Did you get addicted to them?`, she laughs. `Or do you like crying?` she adds mischievously.

`Some of them had quite a similar colouring to the painite you gave me`, he informs her. `I plan to cut it in a new way`, he continues, and launches in a theory he apparently thought of after analysing the raw gem.

His hands move expressively, like birds taking flight. His sleeves flutter and the coloured gems sewn on it shift and spiral with the ripple of movement.

His clothes always have such interesting patterns, muses Sirmë. The more she looks at them the more they draw her eyes; as she subconsciously follows them, they point her subtly but unerringly upwards, and then a toss of the head, a shrug and she catches a glint of gems in his hair, spiralling up in a lovely constellation splattered on the black void of his hair; and then the galaxy curves downwards and she sees a fiery glint swinging by his neck - did he put an earring? And as it swings, her eyes swing as well and she meets a shining pair of eyes. She sees his eyes for the first time. He gazes into her eyes intently.

His mouth stretches into a grin and the eyes burn brighter. Her eyes automatically move lower, to the curve of his lips and she understands he is delighted with his victory.

Looking into his eyes, she feels torn between a slight irritation and begrudging admiration to his strategy. A giddy feeling of anticipation starts building in her chest when it finally dawns on her what Celosse, her sister, even Fannon had warned her about and she laughs. They _know_ each other now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sirme is definitely the one with the idea to put mold in food and try to eat it. 
> 
> She gave him fresh cheese implying their relationship is at the early stage of aquaintance, not matured friendship.
> 
> Sirme lost this round, lulled away by Curufin's apparent bluster. 
> 
> Worldbuilding: noldor definitely had lots of expressions with metalworking, gems etc since they were quite a big part of their occupation. 
> 
> Curufin uses such an expression regarding her earlier statement, but Sirme chooses to take it literally, forcing Curufin to launch in an explanation.


	19. Aquaintance - End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed, sure to have later edits (like last chapter).

His hand sneaks to her head covering and tugs it free. A sudden gust of wind from the sea blows her hair right into Curufinwë’s face and he jumps back awkwardly from his crouching position, sputtering, his eyelids snapped shut in pain. Sirmë opens her mouth either to shout or laugh and instead chokes on her own hair. She sputters, trying to spit the strands out of her mouth. The wind dies down to a soft breeze and her hair settles down.

She finally manages to take her hair out of her face and regards Curufinwë with a heated look.

He blinks. `Your hair looks like a jellyfish`, he tells her, after composing himself. `That’s not how you use a hairnet. It’s supposed to _keep your hair out of your face_ `.

Sirmë twists it in a hasty braid, ties with a cord and smirks at him. `My nephew made my hair`, she informs him grandly. Curufinwë makes a sympathetic noise.

`I know of another victim`, he tells her, moving to pat her shoulder but hesitating at the last second. He looks warily at her uneven braid. `It looks like it will rear up to attack me at any moment`. 

Sirmë pats him on the back consolingly. `Don’t worry, you’ll learn to be more careful of your surroundings after staying in the wild more`, she tells him soothingly.

Curufinwë throws her a haughty look. `I am a proficient hunter`, he informs her, `and I learn from the best`, he adds.

`Is that so?`, she asks him in a voice dripping with awe. `You must be a good shot then`, she adds. `Would you wager a contest?`

Curufinwë takes out a pouch full of gems and shakes it. `Run`, he tells her, palming one.

Sirmë takes out her own rocks, an amalgam of sharp obsidian, smooth river marbles and uneven natural rock clusters. She takes one out, and throws it forcefully, knocking two red gems winking far away in the sand. `Your clusters seem to have been separated`, she tells him blandly. Curufinwë throws her a dark glance, then chooses another gem, murmurs something, and forcefully throws it low with a strong shout of command. It skips in the sand with the force of the attack of a snapping shrimp and when it stops, it had taken other gems with it. They shine brightly, stuck together in a small mound.

Sirmë rolls her shoulders and chooses an uneven porous rock. She weights it thoughtfully, aims, takes a running start and throws with all her might. Her rock crashes with a bang in the gem mound, breaking into pieces and flinging the other gems far and wide. She bows to him politely and he returns it with a deeper one.

They start th rock-skipping contest in earnest after that, trying to see who can knock gems further in the sand. Gems and rocks crash and tinkle in a tremulous melody. White clouds of fine sand rise higher and higher with each throw. Her rocks either disintegrate or chip after each throw while Curufinwë’s remain unchanged. Each time he makes a throw, he savegely aims to grind her own rock to bits before it makes contact with her intended targets. 

A cranky sand-crab the size of a small pony disturbed by their play, erupts from his dwelling under a rock and waves its clamps at them threateningly before diving back again in his dwelling.

They start throwing them up in the air after that encounter. Naji-gulls swoop down to catch them and they both give piercing shrieks, making the gulls drop the gems.

They are followed by a flock of angry birds who shriek and flap their wings in their faces, and make their displeasure known through all their means. 

Curufinwe looks livid at the damage to his clothes. Sirmë laughs at him. 

`Your hair looks worse than my clothes’ he tells her. 

`I can wash my hair faster than you can wash your clothes`, she replies, smugly. `I’m going in`, she announces and runs up to a small rocky cliff and times her jump with a crashing wave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snapping shrimp uses sound to catch its prey: it makes a loud bang which under the water becomes a cavitation bubble. More importantly, the collapse of the bubble generates, for a split second, temperatures of 8,000 degrees Fahrenheit, nearly as hot as the surface of the sun, and also, oddly, a flash of light. The resulting shockwave bombards the shrimp’s prey, which if it’s lucky will die instantly because it’s then dragged into the pistol shrimp’s burrow and consumed. It’s such a powerful blast that some species use it to drill into solid basalt rock, snap after snap, to make a comfy little home.
> 
> Curufin finally saw Sirme's hair at the price of his own dignity. And so a chaotic friendship begins.


	20. Sirmë interlude- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valinor is not a safe park, but a big, wild magical place.

`I heard you almost caused a diplomatic incident. Throwing explosives at Curufinwë Fëanárion’s head now?`, Fannon asks her out of the blue five blooms of Laurelin since leaving the shore. Sirmë, who had been watching the sparkling waves dreamily, gazes back at him confused.

`I did not throw an explosive at his head, I wanted to send him a message`, she stresses.

‘Nyello told me you were going for a double kill: blunt head trauma and explosives`, Fannon tells her fighting not to laugh.

`Nyello is a bit overdramatic`, she replies, sitting herself on the rail and toeing the waves. The water is cool, warmed on the surface by Laurelin’s golden light. `The explosive would have only cracked the egg-shell and only if he failed to open it himself, which I doubt`.

`Open it with his head you mean?`, Fannon smirks.

Sirmë leans back and stretches, careful so she doesn’t lose her balance on the shifting rail. `Of course not. Nyello caught it, didn’t he? And he threw it even harder back to me. I was the only one in danger`.

`Why not just send an invitation? Or a cake?` he asks her, fiddling with the ropes. The white sail hangs limply from the mast. Gulls perch on top of it and on every spot of the rail, watching the waves with black eyes, ruffling their feathers now and then and diving for fish.

Sirmë goes to him. `I did not reply to his first letter, remember? Chances were, he would have probably done the same`, she tells him while helping him coil the ropes and Fannon nods. `And he did call me a failing pipe prone to exploding`, she adds as an afterthought, lips twitching in a smile. `All’s good now. Tell everybody they not need fear retaliation for my actions`, she adds dramatically.

Fannon snorts. `We fear for your safety, not ours`, he informs her. Sirmë’s reply gets lost in the loud cries of the gulls which take flight, circle the boat twice then leave. Soon after, the White Swans come, wings beating thunderously, creating a strong breeze and making the sail swell. They circle the boat in a dance, two opposing spirals of beating wings and trilling calls. Then the they surround the boat in formation and start beating steadily, taking Fannon and Sirmë along with them.

`There is no more danger of spilt blood then?`, he asks her sceptically after their speed settles. `You were circling like sharks the last time I saw you two. Him looking for your blood, you smelling for his`.

`We got over the first hurdle`, Sirmë replies calmly. `The water here feels warmer. There’s a current. Should we travel it?`

Fannon nods. `Take the steering, Ësmi`, he tells her. `You need to learn to know a fifth of what a little telerin kid can do with a boat`.

`Does a little telerin kid know how to capsize a boat in the middle of the sea?` She asks him sweetly.

`If it was made by a noldo`, Fannon laughs and they switch places. `Follow the stars for now`, he instructs her. `After they start fading, concentrate on the wave pattern and the ocean currents. Just a heads up, you’ll get to Ossë’s Teeth. The sea is shallow there with many submarine rocks and whirlpools. Be careful if Osse and his maiar are in a playful mood and may you meet Uinen on the waves`, he tells her. `Smooth sail!` He shouts and jumps on a small flat board with a single sail.

`Are you leaving now?` Sirme asks him.  
`Your challenge` He shouts. `I’m going to meet Thúle and have a little contest in the waves`.

`You aren’t taking anything with you? Food? Water?`, she shouts after him.

`I have my harpoon and knife`, he replies gesturing to his body where he has coiled cord of rope and small canteen of water. `I can get food on the way`.

`How are you going to take care of your business in that seal skin suit?` she yells after him. `Or is your change of clothes being naked?`

`I can do many things you can’t imagine in this seal suit!` Fannon yells back. The swans break formation, half of the flock following him and the rest taking Sirmë at a more sedate pace.

Four changes of light later, the swans fly around the boat again in downward spiral of wind and feathers and then fly away. A soft breeze blows from the east but Sirmë folds the sail, letting the boat bob on the waves and searches for something to fish with. Fannon had not left her any nets, only silk and hemp strands along with some disproportionately big fishhooks.

  
She starts weaving the strands for a lift net, feet dangling in the water. She is lost in the rhythm of twisting and pulling when something swirls around her ankle, twists along her calf and pulls her into the water with a powerful tug.


	21. Sirmë interlude Part 2

Sirmë automatically takes a deep breath and frees her left hand from the net strands before being plunged in. While she is being dragged down, she takes out her belt knife and finally looks down to see what took her. She sees nothing except for the churning water below.

Her descent slows to a stop, throbbing leg still held by an unseen force. The water stills as well. Somewhere far down she sees a ripple, a shimmer that slowly inks itself as if knitting from the sea, spiralling up to her in a black smoky tendril. An enormous octopus, dwarfing her boat fifty times over looks up at her, the power and intelligence in its eyes marking it as one of the maiar.

She kicks her legs to go up but it tugs her down again, this time fast enough to get her dizzy with the descent. When she stops again, her thigh bone has wrenched free of its socket. The boat is a dark bobbing pin somewhere far away and the water is considerably colder and darker now, teeming with life. Colonies of fishes, dart to and fro between the gently undulating strands of Uinen’s Hair.

The tentacle slowly unwinds from her broken leg and gathers into a tight ball settling in the end for an approximation of an elf. Its eyes are green, the shark-like skin a light orange mottled with black and yellow. Instead of legs it has a long Betta Fish tail of fiery orange red, folds after delicate folds undulating like a trailing skirt. From the head sprout the thin red deadly tentacles of Ossë’s Beard jellyfish. The arms are thicker than her trunk, webbed and scaly. The mouth opens, almost splitting the face in two. Inside there are rows of shark teeth as long as her fingers.

Sirmë watches the maia without blinking or moving although she longs to reset the bone. She holds the knife loosely in her left, fingers gripping tightly the trailing half woven net in her right hand.The maia opens its mouth and gives a trill that slams into her with the force of an avalanche, rattling her bones, making them sing in answer. Her brain seems to have liquefied and her vision darkens. The air is punched out of her and she stretches her neck to see the escaping bubbles rise to the surface. Sirmë’s body goes in survival mode: her eyes glaze over and she slips into a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of the drabblish chapters!
> 
> Worldbuilding: there are maiar who did not take physical form for at all or not always. Even Gandalf stayed almost one age only in his spiritual form while bing in Arda. Osse was a rebel kid so I see sea (snort) maiar as being more ambiguous, or a more volatile bunch, more secluded and thus less used to elves.
> 
> There's a species of frog that can get frozen during the night and when it thaws in the morning, it springs up no problem. Insects also go in suspended animation during cold periods without problem. I gave elves something similar (how else could they survive some nasty things later, things that cannot be solved by quick regeneration).
> 
> The lion mane jellyfish is the inspiration for the so called Osse's beard jellyfish.  
> Betta fish, Siamese fighting fish, goldfish have beautiful tails. Imagine something similar for that maia.  
> Uinen's hair is a general name for long algae: maybe kelp in this instance.


	22. Sirmë interlude -End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A noldo, a teleri and a vanya walk into the eagle's nest...

Sirmë runs along the tops of the south-western part of the Pelori, the Needle Towers, jumping nimbly from needle point to needle point. Far down, small trees, rivers and valleys hidden in the shadows all the time murmur sleepily. Behind her, Thúle and Nahaion chatter excitedly.

`I will get the biggest crest feather`, Nahaion boasts.

`I’m not called the wind for nothing`, Thúle retorts immediately. `The eagle will recognise me as his fellow, bow his head to me and let me pick the best feather from his own crest!`

Sirmë turns to them and starts hopping backwards. `The red feathers will not help you, Thúle, on the sea! I will get the fiercest one, the crimsonest one and I will wear it in my hair for my _essecilme_. No, I’ll wear three`, she announces.

`You don’t even know how to speak properly and you think you can have your naming choosing ceremony?` Thúle taunts her. `Do you even know what Lámatyávie means?`

`I know better than to call myself `the wind` when I am afraid to jump from the Ramba`, she taunts him back. `We could have travelled by air currents instead of walking for four blooms`.

`You haven’t tried flight either, only Nahaion knows how`, Thúle protests angrily. `And be careful where you step`, he adds.

`Will you call yourself Three Red Feathers then?`, Nahaion asks her, grinning, beating Sirmë’s brilliant retort. His golden braid bounces up and down like an excited puppy. She tries to scowl at him but in the end grins as well.

`I am Nehtë the Slayer’s little sister`, Sirmë sniffs. `I need a warrior name like hers`.

The vision blurs and next she’s gingerly climbing a vertical wall, buffed left and right by changing wind currents, trying not to alert the occupants of the nest fifty metres up of their arrival.

Thúle’s voice floats indistinct and next she rolls into the nest of the Red Crested Giant Eagles.

It is cramped, it’s her first thought. And it smells of blood and meat and predator. Next, the horse sized chicks see them, give a bloodcurdling screech and start attacking in a flurry of feathers, beating wings, talons and sharp beaks slick with blood.

The children scurry to and fro, slipping on the odd wet animal carcass, trying desperately to avoid the hits. Sirmë manages to avoid getting a talon in her middle, only to be hit by three wings in quick succession which knock her on the floor, breathless. She spies a fiery red feather crest, longer than her arm, close by but a shout form Thúle forces her to abandon it and roll away from the beak coming for her head.

Nahaion yells and shouts, blocking two of the three chicks alone. Thúle goes to help him, adding his own voice, starting a song of victory. Sirmë listens then adds her defiant voice as well, screaming with all her being of her victory over getting the Red Feathers. She sings of the making of an unbeatable warrior, eyes blazing, feet planted firmly on the floor. The chicks hiss and she dives to get two blood-red feathers from the nest. The chicks hiss then cry pitifully, making their ears ring.

A furious answering call makes their song falter and the chicks turn on them, screeching with intent, making their legs buckle under pressure. The father lands on the side of the nest, fixing them with an unblinking stare. He is so angry his fiery red crest, top feathers as long as Nahaion, crackles.

Children and chicks turn to him, mesmerised. Thúle and Nahaion grip Sirmë from both sides painfully tight. `S-should we bow?`, Nahaion asks uncertainly. The eagle opens its beak and Sirmë feels her knees turn to water, but then it stops suddenly and starts flapping its wings agitatedly, finally taking flight with a shriek.  
All of them turn slowly and look back. A white eagle, bigger than the Red-Crest is perched on the opposite side. The chicks cower on the side, merged in a ball of trembling ruffled feathers.

`Eonwë!`, Nahaion shouts, relief clear in his voice.

Eonwë’s voice berating them is the last thing she hears before her sight lightens and Sirmë finds herself back on the boat. An almost identical face peers at her intensely. She stretches up and the maia opens his mouth but then hesitates and closes it. He stretches his hand and she sees a white pearl shining in his palm. He leaves it next to her then seems to dissolve back into the water.

`Forgive Hakau Awawa Te’lea Kehe Timu Mauga Fai Malie, he is unused to taking elven form, or even form at all`, a small gray eagle perched on the mast tells her. `He was only curious, but did not know your limits too well. He wishes to be your teacher`.

`Eonwë!` She shouts delighted then winces in pain. Manwë’s messenger’s words start filtering in. The maia’s name makes her think of reefs and sea valleys, of a ray mantis, of mountains and the Sea. She shakes her head to get rid of the images repeating and multiplying in her head and looks at her leg. Someone had put the bone back in its socket but from ankle to calf the leg is mottled in angry purple red bruises. She won’t be able to walk properly for two blooms at least.

She then registers Eonwë’s last words. `Teacher?` she yelps incredulously, looking to the mast. But Eonwë had already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> essecilme= the name choosing ceremony  
> Lámatyávie= basically being able to make a name that also sounds good to the ears.
> 
> Worldbuilding:
> 
> Red crested eagles: Big, intelligent invented predators. The longer and redder the crest, the more powerful the specimen is. Trying to touch or pull at the crest is seen as a sign of aggression. 
> 
> THe children know this so they plan to take one from the nest. They go and find the chicks during their meal...
> 
> Ramba: the wall, a tall vertical cliff from which vanyar jump with wingsuits to travel around. Since they live on the biggest mountain and see Manwe's eagles all the time, it's not a stretch to think they would extrapolate.
> 
> Maiar and elves relationship: the valar brought the elves there to teach them, so teach they did. In Silmarillion it is said they even surpassed their teachers in some things (not necessarily a good thing). So they are definitely actively involved with elves not some distant absent lords. They are teachers (and nannies). 
> 
> Why did not Sirme attack or defend herself from the maia from the sea? 1. She is still quite young. 2. She has respect for them in general (was saved by a maia at least once) 3.She was not in her element (literally). 
> 
> The name of the sea maia is taken from different Polynesian Languages. The length is inspired by the full names of the japanese gods (also really long).  
> He is one of those who didn't really take a physical form so the second time he took Sirme's face and body structure to make her feel less threatened. It didn't really work, just as it didn't when he tried to introduce himself under water and almost killed her by making her bones (and internal organs) resonate and a frequency bad for them. He was just speaking to the water inside her....
> 
> In the flashback, Sirme speaks of her essecilme, name choosing ceremony, so she is about 14-15 years old. Thule is one year younger and Nahaion is 20. All small kids.
> 
> Next, Curufin tries valiantly to start working on the painite but his little diplomatic escapade at Alqualonde os not without repercussions.


	23. Curufinwë interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sirme navigates Osse's Teeth (while being stalked by her new `teacher`), Curufinwe arrives in Tirion.

Curufinwë is walking towards his workshop with a spring in his step when he is accosted by Lúthaion.

`I’m busy`, he tells Lúthaion curtly.

`Yes you are, my prince`, he replies. He nods to the sheaf of papers in his hands. `This is what you have to do for the next few weeks. Disposition given by your grandfather`, he adds hurriedly when Curufinwë stops and turns to him coldly.

`Tell me what I have to do`, he replies, sighing. His painite would have to wait.

`You have an architects’ and engineers meeting regarding the unusually fast evolution of the sewer ecosystem in thirty minutes`.

Curufinwë nods. `I saw some differences when I went down to seal the pipe. It seems the waste is getting unusual too, most probably because everybody has started experimenting for the city celebration. But it should be contained there`.

`Indeed`, Lúthaion replies delicately. `But there was an incident`.

Curufins slows and looks at him. `What incident`, he asks eyes narrowed.

`Your uncle and nephew were found there. Arafinwë had accidentally touched the canal water in the main junction of the southern and western parts and his skin started drying and sloughing off. He was shedding like a snake the last time I saw him`.

`So he fell in?`

Lúthaion coughs. `Apparently he saved his nephew from being dragged under by a giant Black Spotted Salamander`.

`A salamander? How big was it?`

`According to Arafinwë, at least one and a half metre in length. We do not know yet if it’s the largest specimen`.

`A jump from thirty centimetres to a metre and a half…What were they doing there?` he asks irritably. Sirmë’s face flashes before his eyes. `You know`, he starts, `there _is_ somebody who had started cataloguing the changes. We can ask them what they observed`.

`Ah, yes that would be perfect`, Lúthaion replies distractedly. He hesitates. `We also saw rats in the tunnels`.

 _`Rats?_ There shouldn’t be any mammals in there`, Curufinwë replies, surprised.

`Indeed. And if they start multiplying and destroying the ecosystem...`

`We need to take care of it immediately in a coordinated effort` He says decisively. `I’ll raise that particular problem up at the next meeting. Grandfather will approve`.

`You also have to resolve four disputes: one in the eastern quarter, where there are complaints about “unknowns” that are doing experiments that are affecting the apple orchards. Harweno from the southern quarter complains Lanwon has been sneakily painting his front wall one gradient lighter than its original colour and it drives him mad. Lanwon insists he is offended by the original nuance and he’s only making it right. Rávëanil from southern accidentally put Wáno’s warehouse on fire and all of Wáno’s silks are gone. And in the northern quarter, well, Alcano’s kids blew off their house roof during one of their experiments and damaged the road. Oh, and Lëodil cannot find some of his jewels and is accusing his daughter’s suitor of stealing them’.

`All these problems are in my brothers’ quarters, not mine. What are they doing, letting me handle their responsibilities?`, he asks bemused. `Father let us handle this so he could concentrate on his own work. The key word being **us** `.

Lúthaion remains silent and almost look sheepish.

‘What is it, Lúthaion?` Curufimwë asks irritably.

`Two blooms ago, during a meeting in the Carecil Plaza, your brothers started a debate on the efficacy of word content versus intent and sound, a debate which culminated with a practical demonstration from all parties. Tyelkormo started by singing all the gruesome ways various animals could kill, in gory detail and demonstrated how animals use sound to paralyse their prey, prompting Nelyafinwë to start singing the various ways one hunts such animals. Kanafinwë chimed in to cover both and the rest took sides. The plaza, as well as four other surrounding public pavilions were completely obliterated. Ten private residences suffered damages such as shattered windows and walls. Five people were hit by flying masonry and suffered minor injuries. Three of Prince Fëanaro’s household staff caught in the crossfire were severely affected by the battle songs and are in the Gardens. The persons involved have to repair the damages personally and also make personal amends to those affected by their songs.

`Is that all?`, Curufinwë asks dangerously quiet.

`No, your brothers were temporarily stripped of their titles and are forbidden to participate in any official meetings. You will have to take part of their duties for now`. Lúthaion clears his throat and continues with a ghost of a smile on his face: `Your father commented it was fortuitous you were not there as well as he would have had no more backup`.

`Oh, he’s working on a backup right now`, Curufinwë murmurs darkly. `He should make sure _the backup_ has administrative skills`.

Lúthaion gives him an indecipherable look and they change direction towards the Engineers’ Meeting Pavilion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next, their friendShip sails.


	24. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city prepares for celebration, meaning the noldor go all out and fight tooth and nail to keep their projects a secret.

Three weeks later from Curufinwë’s arrival, Sirmë is in the back of the meeting hall listening to the proceedings, having been summoned to report on the changes she had observed in the sewers’ ecosystem. Curufinwë steals unobtrusive glances at her now and then. The timing and circumstances of her arrival mean he hasn’t had the time to speak with her and prepare what she should say, and more importantly _how_ she should say it. He has a sinking feeling she’ll whip out some toxic specimens and start eating them in front of everybody while cataloguing her symptoms. He must catch her during the break and brief her before others can talk with her.

The discussion is getting heated, nobody wanting to give full access to their pipes during this time since ‘it will give clues as to what they are preparing for the celebration`. When he reasonably points out they might not have a celebration in the rhythm they’re going, Nolofinwë almost jumps from his chair, accusing him on wanting to take control of them by enticing the children to go down there.

Curufinwe blinks. `What does that have to do with our discussion?` he asks coldly. `I did not _entice_ anybody to go anywhere`, he adds.

`My son told me`, Nolofinwë replies hotly. `And he almost got killed`.

`Which is why we are working for a solution`, he tells him long-sufferingly, sprinkled generously with a patronizing tone.

Nolofinwë throws him a look that implies he will pay for that later. `I meant it should definitely not be **you** spearheading this operation`.

`Instead of building a pavilion, I did sewer maintenance for fifteen years continuously. I **am** the most qualified`.

`More qualified than those who made them?` Nolofinwe asks him blandly.

`I know to listen to the experts’, Curufinwë tells him friendily. `Do **you**?`, he continues, intentionally raising his voice to cover Nolofinwë’s reply. `I also have sources who have studied the changes during the past year, in minute detail. They will give their report after the break`, he adds, infusing his tone with conviction, power, assurance and a small but evident deference to placate any ruffled feathers.

`We should talk about the pressing problem of the rat infestation before we tackle the other administrative issues`, Lindoriel inserts quickly. At this, Curufinwë sees Sirmë open her mouth urgently so he starts arguing for his points more forcefully to stop her from doing something stupid, such as talk before being prepared.

The instant the break is announced, Curufinwë storms away to find Sirmë. He can’t find her anywhere. He is suddenly taken by the collar and bodily pushed in a small alcove. In the mounting roar in his ears he sees Sirmë mouth stringless words: Rúna, rats, food, beg, hero, nobody, friend.

Curufin goes livid, takes her by the arms and forcibly marches her in an empty room then whirls to her, straining not to shout.

`Don’t show your face in the meeting room. If they find out who was responsible they’ll go for your throat. Can you make them leave?`, he asks her in a strained voice.

`I feed them, but they love Rúna and Mahtar. We could try and relocate them…they’re smart so we should-`.

`That’s the problem!` he retorts hotly. `They’re smart. Couldn’t you find another species to dote on? And what are you doing, encouraging children to do stupid stunts? They even gave you fake names. Hero and Nobody?`

`Those names are not fake for them, they show what they want to be right now!`, Sirmë shouts at him, `don’t judge them when you haven’t even met them!`

`They’re my uncle and nephew`, Curufinwë tells her tersely. `Did nothing in their features ring a bell?`, he continues acidly.

Sirmë opens her mouth, closes it then looks away. `I…didn’t really look at your features too attentively`, she mumbles. `And speaking of rats, **I** didn’t dote on them, my nephew did and your cousin as well`, she continues defensively. She makes a small pause then continues in a lighter tone. `We’ll move them and build them a nice habitat. The Rats’ Pavilion, somewhere not in the city`, she continues more enthusiastic.`What do you say? Doesn’t it sound good? There will be puzzle rooms and secret hallways and lifts and ropeways`, she enumerates excitedly.

Curufinwë gives her a blank look. `…you have been thinking of this for a while, haven’t you?`, he starts.

`I might already have some blueprints ready`, she replies sheepishly.

He groans and slides his hand over his face, the influx of new information and Sirmë’s jumps from one topic to another leaving him with a headache. `I’ll see what I can do. I’ll lobby for the more peaceful approach instead of outright extermination. I doubt Yavanna would agree with the first one anyway. But if we get a war with intelligent rats in a hundred years, just so you know, it will be known it was your fault`.

`I’ll chemically castrate them then`, she replies. `How about being able to have at most one offspring? They won’t multiply very fast them, that’ll keep them at manageable demographic and in two generations there won’t be more than fifty rats at one time in the pavilion`.

Curufinwë watches her silently for so long she clears her throat and moves to check his pupil reflex. He bats her hand away.

`This is how it’s going to happen`, he says in a calm voice. The utter confidence in his voice washes over her, covering her entirely. `You’ll state whatever finds you had, you _won’t_ mention you sampled everything you saw…Did you eat any rats?`, he asks her.

`….I did not!`, Sirmë replies with righteous indignation. 

`Very well`, Curufinwë replies after a dubious pause. He raises a hand to forestall her protests. `You will say you saw some rats but since you weren’t sure about the rules of engaging, you fed them to gain their trust`.

`It wasn’t-`

`Listen to what I say`, he continues in an implacable tone. `I will propose to relocate them based on your past experience with them and you will suddenly find this idea amazing and ask where`.

`But I already-`

`You will not say any word of those blueprints or your ideas. If they get a verbal confirmation that you knew of this and did not inform any of the relevant authorities you’ll get in trouble. I have enough people who should be helping in trouble so I would prefer not to add any more to that pile of slime ore`.

Sirmë lips part to protest so he doesn’t leave her any opening.

`And you will help beyond the rat problem. The sewers need a coordinated sweep again, from all starting points. You and Fannon will help the maintenance teams`.

`But Fannon has to go`, she protests. `He hasn’t even arrived yet, he has-`

`He’ll receive glowing reviews and will be called a great liaison between the noldor and telerin population, a shining example of the best both tribes have to offer. He’ll be fine. You as well`.

He opens the door, nods to her to exit before him then starts walking rapidly back to the meeting hall. 

`Now, remember. Don’t let slip anything that could incriminate you. Be as vague as possible and let me handle the more pointed questions`.

`But everybody saw you dragging me here, won’t they think we talked about what to say?`, she asks him, hurrying to keep up.

Curufinwë looks at her eyes gleaming. `This is politics`, he informs her gleefully. `Don’t worry, I’m on your side. Or rather`, he adds `you’re on mine`.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slime = the refuse that occurs when making iron.


	25. Chapter 25

**Four months later**

Curufinwë is dreaming of working his painite. He is almost touching it when it disspates and he focuses instead on his brother’s grinning face.

`Go away`, he tells Tyelko flatly.

`Such harsh words for your dear brother you haven’t seen in four months. I was toiling and toiling, worried about my little _ton’ya_ alone in disputes, unable to support him, and he doesn’t even wish to see me!’ he starts declaming dramatically, making the windows vibrate with the force of his voice. `Woe is me, for I am unwanted by my own brother! And here I was, flying to him like the sparrow to its nest to tell him the good news: we finally finished rebuilding the plaza and the pavilion, better than before`. He pirrouets to him with an elegant swirls of sleeves, bows ceremonially and adds `We would be delighted to invite our dear brother, our _ton’ya_ to its first debate`.

`Didn’t you get banned from having debates?` Curufinwë asks idly, fingering a letter opener.

Tyelko laughs, bouncing on his toes from excitement. `Never! we did promise we’ll be careful`, he adds with a deep bow to an unseen audience. `Our onorable eldest brother is also attending`, he finishes with great ceremony, folding his hands in the sleeves.

`Nelyo?` Curufinwë asks, surprised.

`Indeed` Tyelko replies, a wicked gleam in his eyes. `What do you think, dear brother? Have you sharpened your teeth enough to take him on? I’ll even help you`, he adds with a sharp smile.

`Does anybody ever win when Nelyo decides something?`, Curufinwë retorts, almost rolling his eyes. `Even father couldn’t sway him when he got it in his head to go down the Unending Waterfall`.

Tyelko stops for a second then he starts moving again with the same liquid grace. `Indeed. But who knows, there are new elements there as well. You might get help from unexpected sources`, he smiles, stopping in front of Curufinwë who opens his mouth to tell him he has something more important to do and the next moment finds himself on the floor, doubled over in pain from the hit in his solar plexus. Tyelkormo crouches next to him and pats his shoulder. `Presence is mandatory, _vinya_ `, he adds in a measured voice. `Now, get out of your head and come with me`.

* * *

When they arrive at the Starflower Pavilion, which is conspicuously missing its white delicate flowers and has instead galloping horses frescoes interspersed with fiery designs, as well as a new fountain, he finds Sirmë there as well. He throws an annoyed look at Tyelko who gives him a mocking gesture.

`Go win your household staff, pup! Your Rat Pavilion will have its main manpower from among these people. Impress them well`, he whispers in his ear. `We worked a lot to convince all of them to attend, and even more to make them agree to work with each other no matter what the team formation might be.`

Curufinwë feels his hackles rise. `Stop blowing in my bellows`, he hisses. `I can heat my furnace on my own`.

Tyelkormo raises an eyebrow at that and pointedly digs his right elbow in his ribs.

`Go and choose your colour`, Tyelko tells him and saunters towards the table.

Curufinwë looks at the cups in front of him. Red and white. He gets red and sits himself next Sirmë. She stops from her conversation with her friends and shows him her yellow cup. Next to her, Nahaion the vanya’s has inky fingerprints and has become blue black. Thúle’s is a swirly kaleidoscope shifting slightly every passing moment. He has written his arguments there, he says loudly to his neighbour, Merenon, who looks at him disgustedly, his own cup the pavilion’s default one. When Merenon starts an argument with another engineer, Thúle leans over and starts painting Merenon’s cup as well. Curufinwë narrows his eyes. He is definitely writing some insults.

`Here we are encouraged to take creative liberties`, Sirmë tells him, nodding towards Maitimo and Tyelkormo.

Maitimo has taken a white cup but makes it just _so_ that it oscillates between pale red and white, Curufinwë observes.

`Make up your mind already which side you’re on, Nelyafinwë`, Nendion yells at him from the red side. `Why are you wishy-washy?`

Maitimo smiles at Nendion serenely and his cup bleeds crimson before changing in a brilliant white. Nendion shuts up immediately.

`I see`, Curufinwë replies after the incident is over. `I’ll just use the default cup`, he tells her raising his own cup in a salute.

`The normal one?` Sirmë asks him surprised.

`You’ll never know what hit you`, Curufinwë promises her.

Years later, she’ll remember his statement and finally understand but it will be too late. She would have had already fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers look out after one another....
> 
> Language:
> 
> I'm trying to insert expressions they might have used. Since they work a lot with metals, gems, etc, Curufin uses an expression that basically means, don't do something that's my job. 
> 
> Tyelko and Maitimo do feel guilty about their little brother doing all that work for them as well, so they try to help him in turn.  
> Tyelko had to do so many apology meetings he started talking as if he was in front of an elder council all the time (all the while hamming it up, ofc).
> 
> Worldbuilding: The Undending Waterfall: a very important future plot point.


	26. Chapter 26

In the ensuing debate, Maitimo manoeuvres the white side while Tyelko hounds certain people on the red side. Merenon makes pointed remarks on the proper procedures, having something to nag about all the time, making it even more difficult for his brothers to engage him in their desired group. Curufinwë rebels in the only way he dares to, by intentionally making statements that alienate some of Maitimo or Tyelko’s choices. It’s almost worth it, to see them scramble to keep up.

Then Makalaurë storms in and suddenly things are blown out of proportion, unfortunately less so in a metaphorical sense, his suspiciously perfect timing uniting the last recalcitrant parties.

This is how after endless arguing from all sides, Curufinwë finds himself with Sirmë and her package deal, her cousins Thúle and Nahaion, as well as Merenon and Nendanor as the team spearheading the rat cleaning operation, while the others agree to work in shifts as the cleaning and maintenance crew.

`The schedule will be decided by Merenon`, Maitimo suggests, prompting another eruption.

In the end, only the nucleus team remains to discuss the specifics. `I’ll call Rúna`, Sirmë announces to the others. `I’ll bring our dear cousin in as well`, Tyelko murmurs in Curufinwë’s ear, a wicked gleam in his eyes. `He’ll love being a hero`.

Biting back an irritated retort at his brothers’ protectiveness, he calls for a short break before starting the arduous task of deciding the cleaning schedule. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyelko was furious Nolofinwe dared attack his little brother, so he sneakily takes Findekano in just to spite his uncle. 
> 
> The term `cousin` is quite general. Thule (teleri) is a second cousin while Nahaion (vanya) is a third degree cousin.
> 
> `What could go wrong with little kids playing the Pied Piper with intelligent rats?` asked nobody on that team, ever.


	27. Chapter 27

Laurelin has bloomed five times until Merenon declared himself satisfied with the route they would use to take the rats out. The other teams had already started working on the Pavilion after Thúle innocently suggested they could use his starting project. There were some suspicious glances thrown his way when he whipped out the blueprints and mentioned it was almost halfway done already, but since it meant less work for them and more time to get ready on their own projects, everybody pretended there was nothing wrong with it. Curufinwë suspected they were also glad to escape from Merenon’s constant punctilious nagging about propriety and protocol. Sirmë’s brilliant smile to Thúle made Curufinwë grit his teeth in annoyance, a sour taste in his mouth.

Three days later Sirmë had come once with her nephew, saw the uneaten plates of food, turned back and left. She came back some time later with two baskets of food and commandeered their table, plopping down the food and ordering them to eat. Merenon’s outraged reaction fell on deaf ears and Curufinwë’s day got lighter.

Seeing the bright-eyed dark-haired child, always twitching to run, jump or do a caterwaul, Curufinwë was reminded of a bright eyed squirrel and got distracted enough by the energetic kid. The surprisingly normal food Sirmë brought them, hearty and spreading warmth and energy on its way down to the stomach, made him more generously inclined towards Merenon and they managed to proceed surprisingly fast after the meal.

Two days later he hears Rúna’s dancing footsteps and he is almost hopeful they’ll finish the planning the same day. His dreams of food crash when he sees Rúna gnawing on something that that looks like glazed rat on a skewer. The child cheerfully gives one to him and another one to Merenon, then beams up at them. His fingers and mouth are slightly greasy.

`Is this a sewer rat?`, he asks Rúna who only smiles wider. He tastes it gingerly. It has a pungent smell a stringy texture and smoky taste. While he chews, flavours explode in his mouth, the sweet glaze adding a delicious flavour to the slightly spicy meat.

`It tastes like rat`, Rúna informs them with a knowledgeable air. `I bit into one when we were fighting for territory`, he adds, `so I know`.

Curufinwë’s stomach revolts at that.

`So it _is_ a sewer rat?’ he asks slightly nauseous.

`If it looks like a rat, tastes like a rat, has the same texture as a rat, is it a rat or not?`, Rúna asks him grinning then turns to Merenon who hasn’t touched his. `You won’t eat it? My aunt made them for our success`, he informs Merenon with a serious air.

`I don’t eat dubious food, Rúna Nehtëion`, Merenon tells him calmly.

`Are you scared?`, the boy asks him, his tone slipping into derision.

Merenon is unruffled. `Indeed I am`.

`Hmmm`, the boy hums. `You know, if you don’t take any risks, you’re not going to win. Snow looks nice and fluffy but it can be deadly cold`, Rúna tells him gleefully and leaves. Merenon pales for the first time, his jaw tensing.

I must find out who turned him down, Curufinwe thinks. Merenon’s gaze swings to him, impenetrable, his thoughts giving nothing away. He carefully puts the skewered rat on a plate and leaves it there. The fat dribbles on it and starts congealing slowly.

* * *

`We should follow the proper procedures, Prince Curufinwe`, Merenon insists for the umpteenth time. `They should be tested first in running an obstacle course in a more favourable environment`.

`I thought the proper procedure would be not to involve children`, Curufinwë mutters darkly. `You don’t have any objection to that?`

Merenon blinks. His eyelashes are unusually long and thick, giving him a perpetual hooded look. `As long as it follows the procedures no, not at all, prince`, he replies full of assurance. Curufinwë wonders if it’s revenge for the stunt Rúna pulled on him. Merenon gets wind of his thoughts and his forehead creases into a frown.

`Speaking of`, he starts in the polite neutral tone that gives no other information away except for bland facts`, you need to address Findekáno as ‘little cousin’. Please address prince Arafinwë as ‘honourable younger uncle’ when you need to speak with him`.

`Why would I speak with that kid?`, Curufinwë asks, baffled.

 **`Honorable younger uncle** `, Mercaion repeats disapprovingly. `He insisted he should be part of the testing process`.

`Is his skin alright?` Curufinwë asks sceptically. `He shouldn’t exert himself too much`.

`Prince Arafinwë, your honourable younger uncle followed protocol`, Merenon, tells him coolly, `so he can. You cannot refuse since he is your uncle, Prince Curufinwë`.

`Watch me!` Curufinwë says under his breath. `I will speak with him`, he adds smiling politely. `I am sure he will change his mind, no need to add him to the team roster`, he adds pointedly.

`The relevant parties for your **_younger honourable uncle_** , prince Arafinwë, were informed already, Prince Curufinwë`, Merenon tells him imperturbably. `We’ll do obstacle course in the next few days to see how they fare. The route they have to cross to lead the rats away is quite difficult since we can’t start making reparations before they’re out`.

The way Merenon says his title rubs him the wrong way. He’s not impolite, there’s no mockery to his tone but something like disapproval radiates from it. When he tries to pin it down it vanishes away like smoke, then returns like an itch at the back of his mind. `Call me Curufinwë`, he orders Mernanon, who bows in the correct degree of formality, goes back two paces, bows again with his fist at his chest and then straightens silently.

`Merenon`, Curufinwë starts dangerously. Power crackles in the back of his throat, ready to be unleashed. He doesn’t need a repeat of the same incident his brothers were part of though, so he swallows his fury.

`Prince Curufinwë`, Merenon replies calmly, hooded eyes boring into his. `You seem to fancy yourself a politician`, he adds politely, `so I would give you an advice as a master of ceremonies and as an adviser: learn the proper code of conduct and _follow_ it. That includes calling people by their rightful names`, he says, bowing again respectfully.

Curufinwë feels his heartbeat accelerate, his muscles tense and knot, ready to punch. He carefully regulates his hormones, lowering the aggression factor and forces his face into a genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. He keeps voice friendly when he answers.

`I look forward to working with you, Merenon`, he says, bowing politely, the correct bow for an esteemed teacher at the end of one’s apprenticeship. `I already learnt very much`, he adds with deference, forcing Merenon to bow again, lower, and almost lose his papers in the process.

On the way to his father’s house, in the golden light of the first quarter bloom, Curufinwë decides that no matter his efficiency, Merenon will have to suffer an accident very soon. One that would make him unable to take part in the proceedings. Maybe a dip in the canal waters would make him shut up.

A flash of gold jumps from one suspended bridge to a lower wall, pursuing two other small dark blurs. Curufinwë swears and starts running after them. Four streets later, he spies Sirmë talking animatedly with Celosse and bellows her name, infusing it with all the urgency he feels. The whole neighbourhood turns to him and Sirmë jumps up to him to catch up.

`They should do it under controlled conditions and under supervision`, he yells at her accusingly. `Why did they start _now_?`

`Isn’t Alaquen supervising?`, she shouts back at him.

`My **_uncle_** is a kid!`, he replies furiously. `Did they not learn anything from the sewers? Not a question to you, Sirmë`, he adds frustrated.

`Why don’t you yell at them to stop?` she asks him irritated.

`They might hurt themselves if I stop them too strongly`, he admits. `We need to catch up to them. If they keep up, they’ll get to a garden so they won’t have any other close walls to jump to. They’ll need to stop`.

In answer, Sirmë starts running faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rúna is a chip off the old block and Sirmë is still a troll.
> 
> World-building:
> 
> Remember Curufin having to work to get respect ? Merenon is not intimidated by his title, and does have much more experience. Curufin is still very young and has a lot to learn.  
> Now, his brothers were the ones who insisted Merenon be part of his team so maybe they thought he would help Curufinwe become an even better politician. 
> 
> The power of song, of words: kids are more susceptible to the power of words since they are little and not all their shields ar up. So Curufin shouting at them to stop might make them freeze in a bad moment and they might get seriously hurt.
> 
> Why do elves not ban children from taking part in dangerous work? Well, they think if kids have te ability to do something, they should try it (while being supervised ). This is what maiar do with them as well. And it's not like they will suffer permanent maiming, there are amazing healers around.
> 
> Alaquen = nobody, the alias Arafinwe gave Sirme when they met Runa (and later her) in the sewers.  
> Mahtar = warrior, was Fingon's  
> Wacky family trees must mean they have lots of words for describing family members, at least when said family members are still young. They need some sort of hierarchy. Thus, the titles Merenon insists Curufin should use.


	28. Chapter 28

Rúna is in the front, leading Findekano and Arafinwe among the spires, connecting bridges and rooftops of the cramped private quarter. The children move quickly through walkways that are inaccessible to the two adults.

`We should split`, Sirmë tells Curufinwë, her half-braided hair covering most of her face.

`You look scarier than an angry bear`, Curufinwë informs Sirmë while throwing her a thin leather band. She pulls her hair in a messy topknot and goes to the right. Curufinwë eyes her bun which bobs alarmingly in time with her jumps, then turns to check his own path. The children have disappeared.

`The Walled Pavilion`, Sirmë shouts to him from far away and Curufinwë moves again. They soon get closer to the three children and Curufinwë slows down. They have nowhere to go except towards either him or Sirmë. He sees them at an angle, Sirmë coming from the opposite side.

`Rúna!`, he hears Sirmë yell.

In answer, Rúna gives a modulated shout of his own, jumps from the edge, shimmies down the wall, punches his left hand in the wall and something in his hand breaks his speed with a groan of rock teeth grinding together. He jumps again sideways, spins and rolls on the grass, gets up and sprints towards the Needle Pavilion, runs vertically half a storey, throws a cord with a hook, catches the side of a roof, launches himself up in the air again, and pushes with his legs and arms until he gets to the top, then looks back triumphantly.

Arafinwë has slowed down and stopped at the edge of the wall, but Findekáno who is behind him, accelerates and launches himself after Rúna before anybody can catch him. Sirmë and Curufinwë both jump after him and they fall in a tangled heap with Findekáno on top.

Curufinwë twists and the impact with the ground rattles his whole body. Sirme’s body then crashes into his, momentarily knocking him out. He hears his ribs crack. Sirmë also gives a muffled scream. Findekáno springs up unharmed, nimbly climbs the wall aided by Rúna’s rope and the two take off again.

`Well, that was something`, Sirmë pants.

`Arafinwë, get down from a safe place, I don’t want to break my neck as well`, Curufinwë tells his `honourable younger uncle`, a treacherous voice whispers in his ears between the hazy veil of pain.

Sirmë gives him a wobbly smile.

`You broke four ribs` Curufinwë informs her, shifting a bit. He feels something warm and damp spreading on his back on left side and worries he might have an open wound.

Sirmë stifles a scream.

`Arm. Off. _Please_ `, she gasps.

Curufinwë rolls over painfully and Sirmë finally releases her arm from underneath him. The the lower arm bones are broken. White splinters of bone shine through pierced skin with bright red blood flowing freely in time with her heartbeat. Rivulets of darker blood flow sluggishly down her arm, creating a different sort of map on her arm and fall with a soft pitter-patter in the green grass.

`I hope I didn’t damage a nerve`, Sirmë says, looking dazed. She starts looking intensely at the flowing blood, doing absolutely nothing.

Curufinwë snaps her back to reality with a shout. Despite the pain in his chest, Curufinwë deftly takes a sash and wounds it around her arm in a sling to decelerate the blood flow. Seeing her watch some small splinters of bone intently he deadpans: `Don’t even _think_ on eating those`.

`But they’re mine`, Sirmë automatically protests, forgetting her shock.

`Let’s go to a healer`, Curufinwë tells her. His words come out with frothing blood.

`...I think you have a punctured lung`, Sirmë informs him looking fixedly at his mouth.

Curufinwë wipes his mouth with his sleeve. `You can’t taste my blood either, it’s **mine** `, he replies offhandedly. `Let’s go`, he adds, getting up and looking for the nearest exit.

`If we’re in a hurry, shouldn’t we take the shortest route?`, Sirmë asks him, pointing to the opposing wall with her uninjured hand. Her hair is down again. Curufinwë looks at her speculatively then shrugs.

`Sure, why not?` , he mutters. `We still have a couple of undamaged body parts`.

They take off and are almost immediately waylaid. Arafinwë must have run straight to his father, who got to them in record time, judging from his unusually dishevelled appearance. Sirmë almost stumbles in shock, only Curufinwë’s arm around her shoulders to help _him_ keep up preventing her from injuring her arm again. His breathing is hoarse, and blood wells in his mouth but he manages to garble “Grandfather, it’s nothing serious, we’re fine’, and sprays blood on the left side of Sirmë face.

`Sit down, both of you!`, Finwë shouts at them. Their knees weaken at the command and both slump down. He and Arafinwë come and help both on a bench. Healers come running as well.

* * *

Later, in a healing ward, Curufinwë looks at Sirmë.

`Don’t leave bloody bandages close to her`, he cautions the healers. `She’ll just eat them. Or mine`, he adds after a short pause.

The healers look at him unimpressed. `We called for a maia healer. He’ll be here shortly so don’t leave the room just yet`, Endion, the chief healer tells them and all leave.

When the disembodied maia comes, Sirmë feels her bones shift, her nerves flare, her blood thrum. She knows everything is in proper alignment now and will heal properly with no damage. The pain is also duller than before. On his side of the room, Curufinwë gingerly touches his side but his breathing becomes visibly easier and he relaxes.

Their eyes meet and almost share a smile, when Finwë, the King of the Noldor, strides into the room, robes still bloody from both of them.

They gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin really should have checked what happened to Arafinwe more closely. We all knew Fingon is the type who gets out unschated while others lose limbs *cough cough*. 
> 
> There's nothing like breaking eachother's bones when pursuing a shared goal then suffering together to bring two people closer.  
> Curufin was starting to get distracted from before that though XD.


	29. Chapter 29

Finwë starts pacing the room silently. Sirmë makes herself smaller, head bowed, left arm holding her right upper arm so tight her knuckles are white. Curufinwë feels his mouth dry up. His throat constricts so much he can barely breathe.

`I heard my son’s version of events`, they finally hear Finwë’s calm voice. Too calm. Sirmë hunches even lower, hiding her injured arm completely, her face obscured by her hair. Curufinwë gives a startled guilty look to his grandfather and tries to explain but the words remain stuck in his throat.

Finwë approaches him, puts his hand on his head gently then lowers himself to be on the same eyelevel as him. `What happened, Atarincë`?

Curufinwë licks his lips nervously. `I saw-`, he starts with a croak, then stops, embarrassed. He throws a glance to Sirmë, irrationally afraid she might laugh at him. Finwë turns as well and beckons her to come to the same couch. She complies, dragging her feet unenthusiastically, shielding her right side. She sits herself stiffly next to Curufinwë, gaze pinned down.

Finwë watches both of them without a word. Anticipation, dread, build up in his throat in an avalanche of words and explanations that threaten to burst from his throat. Sirmë’s nervous shifting breaks his silence.

`I saw Arafinwë and Findekáno running the rooftops, led by her nephew`, Curufinwë says, inclining his head towards Sirmë. She nods, head down. `I followed them and asked Sirmë for help. Findekáno misjudged a jump and we both had the same idea. Findekáno left unharmed`, he adds defensively, his voice drifting out uncertainly.

`Why was Findekáno doing that in the first place?`, Finwë asks patiently. `I’ll tell you what Arafinwë said. Rëna Nehtëion jumped in the walled garden where they were walking the path of dreams, woke them up and declared he will free them from their prison. Then he convinced the two to go on a city tour from the rooftops, because `it’s what they do in Alqualonde`. This was where my own son was sold on the idea, apparently. A more interesting thing is that Findekáno has been chosen as a team member on the rat-evacuation team. Merenon gave me the roster and told me to check if I approve`.

Curufinwë bristles at Merenon’s name. Finwë sighs. `You are still children`, he muses, `so I will not chastise you for not knowing better`. Curufinwë, face hot, feels his eyes sting. `I am an adult’, he protests forcefully. He is afraid he knows where this is going and Finwë’s next words confirm his dread.

`There are some unusual developments in the sewer ecosystem`, Finwë continues gently. `It’s not just the rats, but after they had come they functioned as a catalyst to make the other species evolve faster and faster to keep up and adapt. Seven months ago, when you went in to repair the damaged pipe, you thought it was from chemical reactions coupled with the lichens trying to get to the waste through the pipe. Unfortunately, it seems rats have gnawed on the fungi and lichen there first`.

`But we haven’t found any droppings or`-

`I talked with your father`, he says and Curufinwë shuts up.

`He told me to leave you to your own, because you would find the best solution by yourself. He told me he is eagerly waiting for your own brilliant solution to the problem`.

Curufinwë feels miserable.

`You have been buried under work for the past four months. Maybe you should take a break`, his grandfather starts speculatively.

`NO!`, he shouts and his ribs protest from the exertion, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

`The situation need to be resolved quickly then`, Finwë tells him. `The sewers will arrive to a tipping point soon. The Black Spotted Salamander has already started to eat rat preferentially, getting bigger to hunt better. The rats are also suffering rapid mutations, getting more intelligent and getting bigger as well by eating large cave beetles and lichen rich in growing factors. Soon, even if you take the rats out, the system will be in disarray and we might need to make it over from the beginning`.

`Inorganic filters would have been better`, Curufinwë mutters.

`Inorganic filters cannot take care of everything `, Finwë tells him and gets up. `You have a week`, he tells them and leaves. Both Curufinwë and Sirmë get up and bow automatically.

`Do you think it would have been better if I fell first?`, Sirmë asks him miserably. She is still looking down. Curufinwë, reminded of their first encounters, observes that with irritation.

`Don’t even jest about that`, he groans. `I would have failed worse by having you protect me. I’m a prince of the Noldor`. He looks her over. `I already failed`, he sighs. `Grandfather was disappointed`. 

Sirmë awkwardly rummages in her clothes. He hears a soft triumphant `aha`, then she puts something in his palm. It’s a violet gem-candy, partially crushed and melted by her body heat.

Curufinwë looks at it and starts laughing while simultaneously doubling over in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin's biggest fear is not being taken seriously as an adult. 
> 
> Finwe also gives some lessons to Curufin and Sirme.... well she will also have some things to do. (I wonder what will Finwe do when he finds out Sirme and her nephew are responsible for helping the rats survive in the sewers in the first place...)


	30. Chapter 30

He suddenly remembers something and sobers. `Speaking of rats`, he starts cautiously, `weren’t those...`

`A masterpiece?`, Sirmë asks him, grinning.

`So they were made?` , Curufinwë asks, impressed. Her smiles stretches.

`Merenon’s was a real rat though`, she adds snickering. `Did he eat it?`

`He did not`.

`Hmm, he must have realised’, she hums thoughtfully. `Should have made a construct from rat parts and made up parts so it would have be more difficult to observe’.

`I don’t know, he is prudent and does not cave in easily when goaded`, Curufinwë tells her.

She smirks. `I would have liked to see his face when he saw the difference between his and yours. He must have been pissed`.

`Is this why he became even more annoying?`, Curufinwë asks in a is-everything-wrong-in-my-life-because-of-you tone.  
  
She laughs. `Did he? Ooh, should have come to taunt him myself then. I tried not to be too conspicuous`.

`What’s the history?`, Curufinwë asks, shifting towards her fully. `Rúna mentioned something... _Celosse_?’, he asks disbelievingly.`It’s not my place to tell`, Sirmë replies solemnly, a twinkle in her eyes and Curufinwë feels something twist in his stomach. `But`, she adds, `come to Tulkas’s Court. You’ll see something interesting`, she tells him meaningfully. `Speaking of, we should call Merenon` she adds hesitatingly.

Curufinwë leans back and sighs. `He _is_ efficient`. Sirmë nods with a grimace. 

Seeing each-other’s desponded faces throws them in a new fit of giggles.

`Just think of his face when he saw his rat`, he grins conspiratorially.

* * *

Five blooms later, the plan went out without a hitch, except for the giant Black Spotted salamanders who went in a frenzy and attacked everything that made a sound, the four bursting pipes they encountered along the way and Curufinwë almost losing a leg. Rúna and Findekáno, the ones leading the rats out, had had the most fun, both seemingly finding deadly peril exciting and good fun.

We definitely need to separate those two, Curufinwë thinks. They’ll soon destroy Tirion at this rate. And at the first opportunity he must make a trip to Tulkas’ Ring. He resolves to ask Tyelko to accompany him, squares his shoulders, ignoring the renewed pain in his healing ribs and lung and turns his mind again decisively towards the sewers. He’ll clean them up perfectly in record time with the help of his teams and prove he is ready for the responsibilities of a Prince of the Noldor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such an evolution to their interaction, it really brought tears to my eyes XD.
> 
> Sirme has a bone to pick with Merenon and can be quite vicious about it. She does recognise Merenon's talents though and is not about to sabotage an entire operation to get even. 
> 
> Unresolved points will of course, just as irl, come to bite them back when they least expect it. But next, something else I haven't really seen, Tulkas' Halls.


	31. Chapter 31

Curufinwë strides along the winding path towards starlit Tirion. The trees’ branches make for an ever shifting but always geometric pattern on the walkway. Scaly snakes, salamanders, fishes, all made of varying degrees of shadows form and reform in a continuous dance of leaves, slithering and hopping in front of him on the pavement, urging him along. He smiles at Tyelko’s way of showing the directions to his private retreat and moves his arms to create the long shadow of a red-plumed eagle. 

The light gradually gets fuzzier, and at the border between starlit sky and dazzling golden light of a Laurelin in the third quadrant of its blooming, he turns a corner and he’s greeted by the sight of plants mixing and fighting for supremacy in a wild tangled garden. He moves deftly through vines, bushes, whispering trunks, ignoring their sighs and whispers, ignoring their fierce desire to _grow_ and he arrives at the mouth of a cave facing west.

`Let’s make a trip`.

Tyelko, who is knitting brilliant white dog fur, looks up to him, his fingers not slowing in the least. ` _Laulau_!`, he greets him, smiling. `What is it, _ton’ya_?`.

` _Laau_ `, Curufinwë drawls his own. He doesn’t really have time for pleasantries but knowing Tyelko’s moods, he’ll probably force him to use his most embarrassing childhood invented words just to see him squirm. ‘How do you feel about a trip in a general south-eastern direction?`

`South-east? What exactly do you wish to do there? Sightseeing? Hunting for birds? For gems?`

`I thought we could go further`, Curufinwë tells him and starts spinning the mound of dog fur his brother has left for later. 

‘Further?` , Tyelko asks, a gleam in his eyes. `My _toronya_ is finally ready to go to Tulkas’ Court? Why not ask Maitimo or Makalaurë?’

Curufinwë grimaces when he hears his second eldest brother’s name.

`I don’t wish to disturb Maito from his mining project. And Káno….`

`They have more experience`, Tyelko tells him grinning.

`I’m asking _you_. You have been there, haven’t you?`, he asks beseechingly.

`Of course I was`, Tyelko answers smugly. `I was in fact fifty the first time I managed to sneak in`.

Curufinwë gasps and his spinning almost stops from surprise.

`Merenon found me`. Tyelko tells him smiling faintly.

`Really?`, he asks eagerly. `How did you manage to get in? And how did you get found by **_Merenon_** by all people?`, he adds grimacing.

`I used all my skills`, Tyelko grins proudly. `Unfortunately Merenon knows everybody and so did not buy into my telerin disguise. He offered to spar with me and if I won he said he would pretend he hasn’t seen me`.

`Merenon did?`, Curufinwe asks sceptically. `I thought he will talk your ears off about propriety, rules and protocol`.

`Oh he did, after he beat me up`, Tyelko laughs. A blue and black butterfly alights momentarily on his head, crowning him with his shining fluttering winds before taking off again. Seeing Curufinwë’s incredulous expression verging on indignant fury, he laughs harder. `He is one of the champions, you know. How do you think we became friends?`

`You are _friends_?`

`Otherwise he wouldn’t have accepted to take you on. Learn from him, that’s my advice. He’ll carve your diplomatic skills well`.

`About protocol?`, Curufinwë can’t help but sneer.

`About many things. Unfortunately for you, even if I love you so much, I cannot give you many details. You have to find out for yourself. Just remember: Tulkas likes wrestling`.

`So, no weapons?`, he asks disappointedly.

`I did not say that`, his brother replies with an enigmatic smile. `When do you want to leave?`

Curufinwë eyes his brother’s project, the floor littered with dog fur in all stages of preparation then turns fully to Tyelko and replies confidently. `Now!`

Tyelko nods and puts down the beginning of his sweater. `Do we tell the others you are finally an adult? They will come to cheer you on`, he adds mischievously.

` _No_ `, Curufinwë replies emphatically.

`Ooh I _see_. You don’t want your _any_ _á_ _ra_ _h_ _á_ _no_ to see you lose and force him to come to your rescue. And you don’t want your insufferable elder to make ditties about your humiliating defeat in the arena for years to come. Not to worry, he doesn’t really go there anymore`.

`How was Káno there?`, Curufinwë asks immediately.

`From what I heard, he used song too much and managed to get the arena vibrating with him, making many contestants lose consciousness. But that wasn’t the real reason. He left because everybody started trying to punch him in the throat. The ensuing melee was one of the best fights, I heard. Maitimo had his back and they won against everybody else that day. Everything else except Tulkas’s style of bare-handed combat was banned after that in the official exhibition matches`.

`So I gather Maitimo was also one of the champions?`, Curufinwë asks, relieved.

`Yes, Father as well`.

`Is _atto_ going there?`, Curufinwë asks alarmed, whirling to Tyelko and barely escaping getting a vine in his eye. The purplish bloom in front of his nose opens at the speed of a salt-flake of five millimetres in diameter dissolving in water at the same temperature as the shallow sea in the Bay of Eldamar in first quarter bloom of Telperion.

`Not now`, Tyelko sing-songs, batting the flower away from his brother’s face, `but if he gets wind of it…`

`Don’t tell anybody`, Curufinwë tells him in a rush.

Tyelko whistles and a flock of yellow small birds fly off, chirping madly.

`I won’t`, his older brother winks at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worldbuilding: Tirion is taking more and more shape. Terraced city, with an expansive sewer system under it, (workrooms in the hill as well), bridges and walkways that use the ity's topography to make shortcuts as well as works of art. Now we get closer to the starlit Tirion. 
> 
> I did not use hours but the elves estimate how much the flowers are open by the light quality and use that as reference. Since they probably do not use conventional time-keeping because they don't need to, Curufin uses the time it takes for a certain chemical reaction as a frame of refernce. It is quite exact, despite being very convoluted. (that's the style it seems, XD).
> 
> Laulau, Tyelko's greeting is a throwback at what happened during the meeting with Arafinwe. 
> 
> We get more glimpses in Curufin's relationships with his brothers. (He adores and respects his eldest brother, really wants to compete with Makalaure in everything and has Tyelko as confidant and closest brother)
> 
> Next, Curufin will probably get in the ring despite being warned not to....


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The BGM for this chapter can be found here. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZagsLrNzg3I Eitetsu Hayashi, Taiko drummers. Imagine this multiplied tenfold.
> 
> This chapter wouldn’t have appeared for a long time if it wasn’t for the amazing bunn, who put in order my frustrated incoherent ramblings then proofread the final draft. Thank you!

From far away, he sees floating islands half hidden between rushing cloud-torrents, great copper columns shining brightly with fire agate and andalusite patterns shining golden brown. The floating islands throw huge shadows on the ground, shadows in which soft moss grows abundantly.

Closer, the edifices are more and more imposing, and Curufinwë feels like he approaches a mountain with a beating heart. The main arena is on the top of a huge column which looks like a baobab tree-trunk which resonates and vibrates in time to a secret song from above. It reminds him a little of the Needle Spires, but this has a different quality from the rock. The warm brown-bronze of the pillar seems to light in flames in the golden light slanting obliquely from the west.

Arriving under the great base of the arena, it is impossible now to see the top. From somewhere up above fall long ropes, like the vines of a massive banyan tree. They undulate in the rhythm of the faint, deep beats.

Curufinwë feels at once very, very small and awestruck. A faster tattoo starts in his veins in reply to the faint tremors he feels in his feet, the drumming and the shouting he hears from somewhere far above him. He approaches the singing pillar and when he touches it, he receives the rush of song in himself. He understands better the excitement of the arena and feels a pressing need to be there as well. The longer he stays under the arena, the rhythm makes him more excited. He really, really wants to be _there,_ inside, part of it, to be part of the sound himself. If only he gets there, in that place, he will.... even he does not know. He is without words. For the first time, he wants to express himself in a way different from spoken language.   
  
Far above, the whistling of the wind carries with it the same exuberant feeling of the arena and he is struck with a fierce longing and a fierce desire to _act._

He checks the round bronze shield that he was given by Tyelko, catches a rope and begins the climb. It starts slipping, moving with the drumming and tries to throw him off but he is not daunted. He is not afraid. He is not angry. He simply laughs, excited and does his best to find the proper way to climb in the right rhythm. The sound urges him on and on and his blood rushes faster.  
  
When he steps on the great open plaza before the arena, a stream of wind pushes him back over the edge. He twists in the air, sees the blue sky, he is floating between the sky-torrents, then the shadowed ground is rushing to greet him, and he catches a dancing vine and swings back up. The beat is louder, running in his veins and he whoops and dances with it back again on top. 

The second time he’s ready. He takes his small round shield from the shoulder and simply rushes forward, body braced for attack, and uses all his senses to see behind the veil for the unembodied maiar. He goes for speed to evade, blocks a few swipes, dances between the torrents and jumps on the small dales of apatite and axinite and then he’s past the guards. He looks back and sees the semicircle of great columns rising impossibly high, stretching to the sky, then faces back the entrance, puts his shield back and steps in.

The sudden loud sound almost makes him stumble and his pulse quickens in response. The oval dirt arena is currently unoccupied, but on the tiered platforms surrounding it there are drummers with great drums, beating a rousing song. The wide drums are covered in hides from great beasts, with abstract designs on it, and Sarati runes etched on the sides which amplify their singer’s potency. He is surrounded by the roar of beasts, the boom of mountains and of avalanches, the hot rumble of volcanoes, the great rushing torrents, the roar of the sea, all are there. He thinks one could use his enemy’s skin there, use it to drum a beat, make the opponent feel their allies now singing triumphant songs for him, and he itches to enter as well. He beats a rhythm with his feet, subconsciously moves his hands in tandem with the others’ movements in wide powerful beats; if they had knives or swords instead of drumming sticks they would be an unbeatable army.

The drumming and shouting come to a crescendo and his gaze goes to the dirt arena where the two combatants meet: Nyello of the Teleri and a maiar in elven form. They wrestle and the sound is deafening. Nyello wins amidst cheers and shouts and the whole arena trembles and vibrates. 

Sirmë approaches him, jumping the tiered wide platforms during the beginning of the new battle songs, beating an invisible beat with her thick drumming sticks. She has a split lip and a black eye but her other eye is shining with the same emotion as his.

`I sparred with Merenon`, she replies to his silent question. `One versus three`, she adds laughing.

Curufinwë manages to throw her a _look_.`He won`, she smiles, making fresh blood dribble on her chin, `but I managed to get two solid kicks in his liver. Here’s hoping I damaged something in time for his next match. Look, it’s about to start’, she adds and beats the rhythm directly on the platform. Curufinwë takes off his shield and starts beating on it with his hands in a counter rhythm. 

The next combatants are familiar to him, the silver light of his brother’s hair and the black obsidian of Merenon’s facing each other like starlight against the night. He suddenly remembers he had forgotten about Tyelko, who had disappeared before they had reached the islands, and shouts and beats the rhythm for the combatants. This time it is a three way fight, the arena also drumming against the arena. Merenon wins in the end with an unbeatable chokehold and amidst the roar he feels at once buoyed and angry for his brother. 

`Newcomers don’t go straight to the arena`, Sirmë tells him, forcefully catching his arm and stopping his sudden rush downwards to challenge the winner. `You need to become a champion first`.

He turns to her and tries to answer but then Nessa herself comes and serves them frothy sweet mead, personally congratulating him for coming, and he drinks and he finds his throat was parched and he feels more centered afterwards. Then Tulkas himself descends to the arena and his great laugh dwarfs all other sounds. The exhibition matches commence anew, with Tulkas in their midst.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally Tulkas is here. That was really hard to put into words.


	33. Chapter 33

Curufinwë forgets how long he stays there, in the thrum of the arena, then in the sparring rings on the other pillars. 

Somehow he leaves together with Sirmë, after Tyelko announces he will stay more in. After a two day walk, she stops her story on how she and Fannon swam with an orca pod and tells him she has to go towards the sea now, to meet her teacher.

Curufinwë gives her a metal conch flute, a thin long silver spiral, and invites her to try it. She blows and the conch vibrates in different frequencies, making her skull and body vibrate as well in polyphonic resonance, at once deep and high.

‘I asked my father, and this is a good way to talk with a maiar of his type’, he tells her and hands Sirmë a soft garnet pouch that clinks sweetly when jostled. Sirmë opens the golden strings and takes out fourteen long needle-like thin tubes, linked by delicate silver chains. 

‘You can use them at water-surface or under water as well; they will enter in resonance as well and you’ll be able to speak properly’, he informs her, taking the tubes and showing her how they spread and fold. ‘At least until he gets the hang of our speech more’, he adds, giving them back to her. 

` _Hantanyë tyen`_ , Sirmë tells him, smiling brightly, fingers caressing the conch-flute’s curves.

Curufinwë looks at her and realises Tulkas’s Halls has awoken something else in him, something he cannot yet name, but there’s a quickening that rushes in his veins and makes him feel alive, hyper-aware of all the sounds, textures, the play of light on her hair, in her eyes, and he smiles and laughs, delighted. He is more aware of the shift of muscles under her skin although it is different from the sparring sessions where he looked out for tells of an attack. Her black eye had healed completely, but he still wanted to run his thumb along the corner of her eye and check.

`Have a good trip, Sirmë Lindaneriel`, he tells her formally instead, and bows. May you learn all secrets and create new wonders during and after your apprenticeship. May you soar higher than the eagles, among the sky-gems`. 

Sirmë bows deeply as well then looks up at him, eyes twinkling. 

`Yes, Master Curufinwë`, she replies with the degree of formality reserved for the elders. 

He groans. `I did not mean to imply I am above yourself`, he told her.

`No, you announced it loud and clear`, she laughs and waves the pouch at him. `But because we came together on the path, here, for you`, she tells him and throws Curufinwë a small round packet packed in leaves under a sheer cream wax paper. 

`Cheese with cultures originating from the sewers, maturated in Tulkas’s Halls, taking in all their song`, she announces grandly. `For you`, she adds, bowing formally, hands clasped in front of her.

`What should I pair it with?`, Curufinwë asks, wighting the packet in his hands.

`Ask Nahaion for the wine, that’s **his** specialty`, she replies. `The wine will rise to the occasion nicely`, she snickers. Celosse made the perfect glasses for Nahaion’s wine. And Thúle will give you the plate`.

`What about the knife to cut it?`, he asks her, eyebrow raised.

`The knife`, she tells him seriously,` will be of your own`. 

`Thank you for your confidence, Sirmë Lindaneriel. I shall prepare the knife and wait for you to celebrate together`, he adds, inclining his head to her. `I will finish my private residence before the celebration, and I will be honoured to test the sturdiness of its walls with your cheese`.

`It will last if you keep it always in the light`, she tells him. Keep it in the dark and the mold will overwhelm all`. 

And she turns and leaves towards the sea, soon getting lost between the Needle Spires’ boojum trees.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Tulkas' Halls rush you along and make you realise some things that would otherwise take longer. Theese secondary effects are passing. 
> 
> Remember how she gave him fresh cheese? Now they're much closer.
> 
> Curufin totally tells Sirme her cheese is either going to explode/mutate so he will use it to check on how sturdy his house is built.
> 
> Simce a valinorean year is about 10 yrs of the sun, he definitely has time to finish his small private residence. 
> 
> Hantanyë tyen = Thank you, Quenya
> 
> boojum trees= really weird trees that look like a child's scribble


	34. Chapter 34

One year later, at the beginning of the three month long celebration, Curufinwë receives a letter from Sirmë informing him of her return. Small squids squiggle out of the letters after he reads it and start swimming on the page, forming and reforming into the phrases from the message, gibberish or discarded phrases. 

He responds by extending an invitation to the Starlit’s Torch Festival, then at his newly finished private residence.   


* * *

When he sees her again she has a hairnet of pearls and pieces of coral in her dark hair, arranged again in defiance to its normal usage. She has a torch that burns yellow-green and waves it unnecessarily to get his attention. They slip into easy camaraderie, dancing together with the others, creating galaxy patterns for the dancing stars above.

A happy, loud group of friends makes its way to the western part of Tirion in Telperion’s silver light, their shadows dancing long and dark after the flitting form of their masters who run lightly on the connecting walkways in the private quarter, waving colourful torches. 

They stay for a while at Curufinwë’s house, eating, singing, admiring the cunning architectural designs, boasting of their own contribution to the house, criticising good-naturally some ‘unfortunate choices` others have made. Curufinwë takes out Nahaion’s wine and there’s even more cheer after they toast. Several contests start in small groups, which soon dissolve in a gossip about their plans for the ongoing celebration with whispered allusions, snatches of songs and ideas, all probing, hiding and bragging of their future exhibits.

* * *

Telperion’s light is dimmer, this time of the month, its perennial cyclic branches shorter, thinner, and the flowers only half-way open at most. Curufinwë finds Sirmë is in the lower garden, arranging on the small stone table various ingredients filched from his kitchen. A dark tray is propped at the foot of the table.

`This reminds me of our first meeting`, Curufinwë says, approaching her with a blue-green iridescent glass in hand. `Should we try your first project together?`, he suggests.

Sirmë nods, and they start quarreling immediately on the specific shape of the mountains: Curufinwë wants Fault-Block Mountains but Sirmë insists on having an amalgam of Folded, Upwards and Fault-block together; they arrive at a consensus after Raitaro throws open a window and loudly starts postulating on the usage of the thousand types of bells’ ringing from the city of Valmar as an exact time-keeping process.

Their mountain range finally starts to come along nicely after Laurelin’s pale golden light blooms to a tenth; they are in a delicate part of the process, where every wrong step could have everything blow in their faces with the power of `a hundred whales’ song together`, as Sirmë succinctly puts it, when they hear steps and she panics, jumping in front of the table to cover the evidence. This is a secret to be revealed towards the end of the festival.

She sees Lúthaion coming from the bend of the alley and grips Curufinwë’s left arm urgently to make him stop his song. He gives a startled exclamation and turns to Lúthaion as well. 

Sirmë throws him an apologetic glance then tries to play the illicit lovers caught during a tryst card and tries to get Curufinwë to follow her hints.

_ Blush, Blush _ she thinks desperately.  _ Look coy. _

`Aiya, Sirmë Lindaneriel, Curufinwë. You look pale and sweaty, is everything alright?` Lúthaion asks turning towards her, suspicion colouring his voice.

She desperately looks at Curufinwë, trying to signal him to play along. He only looks haughty, his default expression when he is at a loss.

Lúthaion isn’t fooled and comes closer. They both whirl towards each other and clash in a hug to block his view.

`Can’t you see I’m with a young lady, Lúthaion?`, Curufin tries in a bored drawl, a warning hint darkening his tone.

`I see you’re with Sirmë Raxcaiel in a deserted dark spot`, Lúthaion tells him, eyes narrowed. `What do you plan to do?`, he asks again. `We don’t need destruction of propriety during the festival`.

Curufin exaggeratedly rolls his eyes while shifting Sirmë slightly to hide her legs from Lúthaion’s view. She discreetly tries to push the tray under the low arch of the wall connected to a lower chamber without alerting Lúthaion. `What would an unwed ellon do with an unwed elleth alone, in a secluded place?`, Curufinwë asks rhetorically, mockingly.

`I don’t know`, Lúthaion tells them, looking at them both unfazed. `What are  **you** doing, is what I’m asking. You and Sirmë specifically`, he adds, taking another step.

`Isn’t it obvious?` she asks in a strangled voice. She finally manages to blush. Her face is throbbing from the heat and Curufin looks faintly disturbed.

`It is quite obvious, indeed`, Lúthaion tells them. `You plan on doing something idiotic together, and it’s as far away from the illicit tryst you’re pathetically trying to sell me as a lump coal is from steel. Are you trying to kill her?` he asks Curufinwë when he sees her face. `It looks like you’re strangling her. Or did you eat something toxic  _ again _ . Are you alright-`, he starts voice changing to slightly alarmed when her foot jerks and pushes the tray into the low arch.

There’s a plop and both freeze. The compounds are reactive with water and in a highly volatile state. They hear an ominous hiss and both turn looks of dread to Lúthaion. `Run`, they yell while thick choking smoke starts pouring out of the opening. Something is boiling, something is melting and soon an explosion rocks the wall, throwing them all violently in the outer walls. 

The house shudders but remains unchanged.

`So I built it well`, Curufinwë concludes smugly, after checking that everybody’s limbs are intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ‘caught and tried to look like lovers thing’ was such an over-used trope in fanfiction when I started reading it a long time ago, I had to use it as well because of nostalgia. Too bad Lúthaion is genre-savy.
> 
> Others will find out of this as well.... and there will be a reckoning. Finally.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of the Horrible Brother Trio

Some hours later from what Curufinwë firmly refers to as the testing of his house’s foundation, his brothers have come to pay him an unannounced visit. Together. The air of gleeful anticipation in Makalaurë’s eyes is bad enough, but when he sees the same thing mirrored in his other brothers’ eyes he knows he’s in for something. He hopes it’s just some ribbing about the accidental detonation. 

‘Some things have come to our attention, _ton’ya_ ’, Makalaurë announces in the same insufferable tone he uses when mocking the master of ceremonies at Finwë’s court. They have sprawled all over his main room, hounded him, blocking all exits in a typical Tyelko tactic.

‘What things?’ He asks indifferently. ‘The painite?’, he adds as an afterthought. 

‘You have a **painite**?’, Maitimo asks, interested. Káno perks up as well, but Tyelko stretches lazily and smiles. ‘Don’t try and change the subject, _ton’ya_ ’, he practically purrs. 

‘We have observed a string of unusual circumstances lately’, Maitimo announces seriously in the tone that makes even elders straighten.

‘So we investigated and we found some _very_ interesting things about what you got up to in the past year and a half’, Makalaurë adds, twirling one of his thin side braids absently. Curufinwë internally curses. Makalaurë is unusually smug about something he knows.

‘We pooled our information and a young lady features quite prominently in your plans”, Nelyo tells him.

‘I heard she tastes everything’, Tyelko says innocently from his place on the floor, feet propped up on a couch, hair in a halo around his head.

‘And is open to experimentation’, Makalaurë adds, a faraway look in his eyes. Curufinwë is horrified at the direction his thoughts immediately veer to, and his brothers’ grins widen, satisfied.

‘Take care little brother. She might just eat you whole’. The way Tyelko draws the syllables makes him cringe.

Curufinwë very carefully controls his breathing. His heart beats steadily, his blood does **not** rush anywhere. 

‘Don’t wrinkle your robes like that, _ton’ya_ ’’ Makalaurë teases him, voice light with suppressed laughter.

Curufinwë slowly uncurls his fingers and silently counts the possible ways to get out of this discussion. His brothers have united against him and he is only happy their father has not joined in. Yet. He hopes he hasn’t heard anything. 

‘What makes you think there is anything going on?’ He asks in affected curiosity, matching Káno’s light tone.

‘Let us see’, Maitimo starts declaiming in a narrator voice, as if he’s speaking of the times of yore. ‘A year and eight months ago you came back home in a rush and filched my best sheets to make a ridiculous book for someone. Now, I agree’, he says unperturbed by Curufinwë’s protests, ‘that you might do that for anybody. But subsequent tests showed the same predilection. You implicated her in your main project-‘

‘-she had a valid reason to be there’, Curufinwë protested hotly.

‘What about her cousin, Fannon, was it? Wasn’t he supposed to be the main researcher on the scene? You sure didn’t call for him’.

‘-I summoned him but he couldn’t come’, he enunciates clearly. Mumbling would be disastrous with this lot, they’ll jump on him like blood-thirsty rats. He also manages to sustain the subsequent piercing gaze from his eldest brother. 

‘And I expect you insisted’, Maitimo says neutrally.

‘Of course’, Curufinwë replies confidently. (He hadn’t. He had completely forgotten about him, swept up in the plans made with Sirmë – and the team of course.)

Tyelko snorts at that.

‘We thought it was queer so we dug a little. And we found some interesting things. About some suspicious timings and rats…’ Makalaurë trails meaningfully and Curufinwë turns to his brother, livid.

‘Now’, Maitimo interrupts, ‘you went to Tulkas’ Halls invited by her it seems’. Tyelko nods from his place halfway to the floor. His relaxed stance belies his readiness to jump on him at the slightest hint of Curufinwë trying to beat a retreat. 

‘She already went there before, so she could extend an invitation’, he tells them. The excuse sounds weak even to him but he lets his tone be bored, calm, unruffled. Merenon did teach him some useful things.

‘And now during the celebration…Why did you hide from Lúthaion? It was your own house. You could have simply told him to go away. Or tell him you were doing an experiment’, Maitimo tells him, raising a finger for each point. 

Curufinwë covers his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘I took her lead’, he admits, voice muffled.

‘You seem to do that a lot’, observes Maitimo.

Curufinwë raises his arm and looks at him quizzically.

‘You are a cunning, devious little shit’, Tyelko elaborates, ‘and yet when she tells you some crazy thing you always jump right in. You follow her like a puppy’, he tells him.

Curufinwë feels a hot wave of anger at his brother’s words but sharpens his focus and waits coolly.

Tyelko raises an eyebrow. ‘Angry at being called out _ton’ya_? Angry at finding you had denied a piece of yourself while trying to be atya himself? At your age?’, He adds. ‘You know what happens with pressurised chambers when they are tested beyond their tolerance. They go bang’, he informs him, spreading his hands for emphasis.

At this Curufinwë snaps and lunges at him. Tyelko deflects his punch and throws him on the floor, then they start wrestling, trying to pin each other down. Maitimo shouts at them to stop and both instantly freeze, Tyelko choking Curufinwë, the latter with a knife in his hand, ready to stab him in the thigh.

Tyelko is laughing. ‘Nice to see you letting loose for once’, he murmurs in his ear then ruffles his hair. 

Curufinwë snarls. 

‘Go and destroy something else, or better yet build something’, Maitimo tells them irritated. ‘Make your own pavilion to tussle in’.

‘Shall we, _ton’ya_?’, Tyelko asks him laughing. ‘They won’t know what hit them’.

‘I will supervise’, Maitimo announces sternly.

‘Let’s take Sirmë in as well’, Curufinwë blurts. ‘She hasn’t been on a pavilion team before’. The Rat Pavilion does not count, he adds silently.

Tyelko takes him by the shoulders and laughs.

‘Ready to take on all of us, anyára?’, he asks Maitimo.

‘...on second thought, I’ll join in’, he replies. ‘I’ll let Káno do the supervising’.

Curufinwë feels a slight irritation, soon drowned in anticipation. Makalaurë would push them beyond their wildest imagination and they will all scramble to meet his crazy ideas and standards. And when he’ll add his own song, they’ll need a lot of power to wrestle their own construction from his sway. This time, maybe this time he will best his brother in his own contest.

‘You have something else to do first though’, Maitimo tells him and he realises his brothers have not forgotten after all.

Makalaurë and Tyelko nod, then somehow Curufinwë finds himself in front of his own house, dressed in other clothes, hair braided in a loose fishtail side braid, with net-style on top and the other half, gems scattered in spring constellations in his hair, all in nuances of red. A delicate earring dangles from his right ear, a half opened hibiscus flower, its elongated curved pistil glowing faintly behind strands of hair.

He had expected that from Tyelko, not from Nelyo. His insufferable elder brother had been the one to sing while braiding his hair so it is now impossible for him to change it very soon. And Tyelko had laughed and thrown him those clothes.

Ha hasn’t been one to back up from a challenge and he is not about to start now. So he starts, no plan (so like her), he thinks with a thrill, full of confidence. He can ask for a bit of her time. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His brothers basically make it very obvious he is courting; the braids make reference to what she did in the past year with her maia teacher (shows interest in her pursuits); the sea is also connected with fertility. The hibiscus flower has a long pistil, and they purposefully choose it as a representation of certain “feelings”. The spring is the season for wild animals to mate as well, or the season for births. (I think the trees have a cycle that also creates seasons, although they might be wildly different; also, depending on the place, you could have tropical, subtropical, temperate weather etc). Red is fire so passion.
> 
> Yes, they are totally making fun of him.


	36. Challenge

Rúna is hanging on the wall, a rag in his hand, carefully walking between the narrow space between the garden wall and the house wall, looking for stray specks of dust. Their grandparents will come visiting in a few weeks and things must be in order.

He spies his aunt at a lower window, halfway out, trying to get to a lower spot. 

‘You missed a spot a bit to your right, auntie!’ He shouts to her and she looks for him, face red from exertion.   
‘Are you trying to make me fall, Rúna-hí?’ She yells back at him. 

‘There are enough holds to get there, auntie’, he replies. ‘I can show you the gecko walk!’

‘Or I’ll clean it when I get to the other level’, she tells him brushing hair out of her eyes. ‘My arms are much longer than yours’, she singsongs. ‘I don’t need to do anything like that’, she teases.

’But that’s no fun’, Rúna starts protesting when Melda, his older cousin by eight years and insufferable because of it, shushes him, and points to a figure who has come to their door. 

He is handsome, Rúna thinks, fetching in his loose layered clothes, with darker colours on top, and red and gold peeking from his sleeves, hinting at rich colours in deeper layers. His hair is beautifully arranged, adorned with winking reddish stars, a beautiful red hibiscus flower shining from his ear. 

He looks like a male bird-of paradise in full display. 

Rúna creeps closer, with Melda avidly watching the newcomer. Alassë, still a bit clumsy at five years old, scrambles up to meet them. 

Sirmë also sees him and calls a greeting, waving her duster at him.

‘He is Curufinwë Fëanárion?’ Melda gasps silently. Her eyes are shining and she seems inordinately interested. Rúna goes closer to the gate, whispers to the rocks, checks them for holds and melts into the wall, invisible. A tree hides his cousins, but he has the best vantage point. Melda chatters excitedly with Alassë in the tree. 

Sirmë goes down to meet their guest and looks at him curiously. 

‘Aiya Sirmë Lindaneriel’, he says, bowing. His sleeves move in a lovely pattern, showing in a flash the rich hidden colours beneath. 

She returns his formal greeting, laughing a bit.

Melda and Alassë literally hang on to every word. 

‘If you have a bit of time’, he starts, when Sirmë presses a finger to her lips and shakes her head. He rolls his eyes then leans to her conspiratorially and changes his speech to a stream of unintelligible words.

Rúna frowns and commits it all to memory to try and decipher the code later, paying special attention to the accompanying gestures, pitch and inflections. You never knew where the code lay.

He sees Sirmë gesturing to the house with her duster, no doubt explaining what they’re doing.

At a question from the prince, she shakes her head and apologetically seems to refuse.

He pales and takes a step back.

The girls squeal like little yellow canaries. Rúna frowns and tries to get closer. What did they say?

Auntie suddenly goes to him, takes him by the collar and says something slowly, almost furiously. He stops going backwards and answers in a clipped tone. 

Was he hurt? Rúna cocks his head, considering. He needs to solve the code.

She tells him something again and repeats it looking intently in his eyes. His aunt seems like she wants to put something in his head, almost like when ammë tries to impress on him the importance of safety regulations for when he invites others to play with him.

The guest leaves, turning his outer robe inside out. It has the golden tree in full bloom beautifully stitched on the back. 

Sirmë goes back, rushes into the house and hollers for ammë and uncle. They both come and he changes position to see them better through the window. He sits quite precariously, one hand gripping a cornice, a leg extended to the max to get purchase on the outer wall. He hangs there, unseen, not even a whisper of shadow to alert the others.

‘What should I do, Nehtë-në?’ She asks in a frustrated tone, seeming disturbed. She seems close to crying. 

Ammë and uncle seem to do their best to soothe her. Sirmë starts walking back and forth agitatedly, waving her duster emphatically, yelling something. She is again speaking in code. Another one. He carefully listens and memorises everything.

In the end, she gives up on cleaning, rather ammë and uncle forcefully remove her from cleaning and auntie goes to cook something to cool down. 

He goes to Melda and Alassë who are speaking fast with each other, trying to decipher the meaning from their body language and educated guesses on the context.

‘We know he came with serious intentions’, Melda says in an authoritative voice.

‘Why, couldn't he have stopped on his way to a meeting?’ Rúna asks reasonably.

She looks at him pityingly. ‘You don't dress like that and then go and visit random friends’, she sniffs. ‘But what exactly did auntie do!!’ She continues agitated as well, ‘they were both angry in the end’.

‘She took him by the collar’, Rúna informs her.

‘That’s not the reason’.

‘To make him listen’. Rúna continues.

‘We need to know what auntie _said’_.

‘Maybe later?’, Alassë pipes up.

‘We need to find out now, Alassë, not later!’ They both shout at her.

She makes herself smaller. ‘I meant, maybe it means “later”. Auntie taught me some secret words…’

‘Later?’, They repeat, puzzled. ‘Later what??’

Rúna feels a stab of jealousy at the fact his younger cousin knows something from auntie that he doesn’t, but suppresses it immediately.

The mystery grows when at Telperion’s first clear light, another visitor comes. If the first was a bird of paradise, this one is a flame, a great red-crested eagle. 

He politely asks for Sirmë Lindaneriel as well. 

‘Two of them?’, Melda and Alassë gasp, incredulous, suddenly next to him. They rush again out of the room, up on the walls, between the branches of the trees, to watch the pair. 

The red-crested eagle bows to her, then invites auntie on a walk.

‘Maybe auntie’ll say yes this time?’, Melda tells them blushing, eager. Rúna looks at his older cousin, noticing her weird behaviour and files it for later, then goes back to following them.

They speak, voices too low to carry well. 

He gets snatches of impressions, of mountains, a valley and a lot of water, then the tall, red-crested eagle bows again in parting and leaves.

His auntie remains motionless for a while then comes back with a start and rushes back to the house. 

Rúna hangs back a little, trying to follow the stranger. He is the famous Nelyafinwë, and he wonders where he lives. He spies him entering a house with beautifully carved walls then turns back home.

When he arrives, his auntie is leaving and ammë and uncle are trying to convince her not to go.

‘During the celebration?’, ammë asks her, pleadingly.

‘I need to’, auntie says simply. ‘This will indeed show the strength of my resolve or lack of it as it were. I need to know as well. I’m not about to mope and ask myself these questions over and over again. It is indeed better to test myself’.

‘But the celebration-‘, uncle starts as well.

‘The celebration will come again. But I wish to know the answer now’, auntie declares. She turns to them, hugs them both and spies him. Rúna rushes to her and hugs her tightly, with the girls flying in from the left upper window.

‘Can I come with you?’, Rúna asks. ‘I am fast’.

‘I know’, auntie smiles. ‘But this, I have to do alone’.

She waves to them in farewell one more time then she leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melde, meaning ‘beloved’, is Fannon’s younger sister. (Half teleri/half noldo). Their father is Sirmë’s older brother.
> 
> Alassë, meaning ‘joy’, is the daughter of Fannon’s mother’s sister. (Full teleri)
> 
> Rúna, Nehtë’s son, is full noldo.
> 
> hí- suffix used for children, from hína, child.
> 
> Next chapter is the one I wrote practically in the beginning. It only took like 25k to get there XD.


	37. Confession

Five blooms after meeting Sirmë, Maitimo looks quizzically at Curufinwë and asks him why he’s still there. The past five days, the youngest son of Feanor had had at least one brother with him at all times, reminding him of his duties then taking over most of them. Curufinwë did not have it in him to feel affronted. 

‘Why shouldn't I be?’, Curufinwë asks, offended.

‘You moping around during the biggest celebration in your life is annoying’ , Makalaurë remarks from the other side of the room.

Tyelko, taps his shoulder and gives him a letter. ‘Here’, he says innocently. ‘Forgot to give you before, with all the excitement we had the past few days’. 

The coordinated fireworks that had almost literally lit the city on fire as well had been a welcomed distraction indeed. He would have missed it if not for his brothers dragging him from his underground workshop.

Curufinwë automatically takes it then sees Sirmë’s seal on it and blanches.

‘When. Did. **_It_ **. Arrive?’, he asks, turning to his brother.

‘Five Laurë ago’, he whistles. 

While carefully opening the intricate folds that make the letter, Curufinwë vows to make his brother's weapons break at the most embarrassing moment for him. He reads the short message then turns to his eldest brother, horrified.

‘Who told her to go to the Unending Waterfall to test whether she’ll be able to hold to all expectations she would have to meet if she will eventually marry me? To see if she would ever regret it?’, he demands in anger, clenching the letter in his hands. ‘She will never stop until she gets to the end. She never knows when it’s too late’.

‘Well then, go after her’, Káno tells him, shrugging, unconcerned. 

‘You have a full kit at the door’, Tyelko tells him matter-of-factly.

Curufinwë throws him a murderous look then gets out at a dignified pace, muttering darkly.

‘Do you think he’ll get lost?’, Makalaure asks, idly plucking the small harp in his lap.

‘...he shouldn’t’. Maitimo replies, half rising from his seat.

‘...should we make sure about that?’ Tyelko asks from his place at the window, watching his brother depart.

‘Not yet’, Nelyo replies pensively.

‘Did not expect you to do that’, Makalaure tells him, raising an eyebrow.

‘Did not expect our _telpe vinya_ to wait that much either’ Maitimo accuses his younger brother.

‘Better to chase her more ardently’, Tyelko grins. 

‘I have other duties to attend to’, Makalaurë announces them, plucking at the strings in a wailing tune. ‘I did not make all that effort to finish everything so quickly if not for the fuss you kicked, Nelyo-hán. May I be excused?’

‘l have more duties and I managed them all’, Maitimo replies serenely.

‘By delegating everything to others?’, Káno snorts.

‘Being good at delegating is something a leader should know how to do well’, Maitimo smirks. ‘In a way that those that have to do the job feel flattered they have to do it’.

`Did you tell them _how_ to do it?`, Tyelko asks, finally turning from his vantage point. 

Maitimo grins lazily. ‘One should find the answer after a bit of difficulty for it to have meaning’, he says to them seriously. `Now, you have quite a lot of things to do`, he continues gleefully, `so you should start now in order to be free again when our _vinya_ comes back`. 

* * *

After fifteen blooms, Curufinwë finally arrives at the mouth of the Unending Waterfall, the frothing water lit by countless stars. He looks in trepidation at the gaping mouth in which the thunderous river disappears with the roar of beasts. It reminds him a bit of Tulkas’ Halls, but the rhythm here is not welcoming, just wild. It’s beautiful. It’s enormous. And an endless fall in darkness. 

He hesitates. He knows inside is a large pit where the water from the mountain torrents rushes down with sounds of thunder, so deep the water becomes mist. The air is scarce, as if high up in the clouds, the walls are slick with mist. It is dark but sometimes you can see raw crystals, glowing with an inner light. The current from the fall is strong. It is said there’s a great monster curling at the bottom of the abyss, asleep under the misty waterfall. The lower you go, the closer you get to it and the harder it is to descend and remain sane.

Curufinwë starts his own descent into the abyss, prepared with blazing lights, food, water, pitons, rope and pulley system. His brothers have prepared him well. The way down is easy at first. The water mists his form, the pressure is light, ephemeral. Soon, the mist becomes choking and Curufinwë feels he is under water.

He starts feeling lost in a grey-dark light when he hears echoes of a faint song and the walls start to shine in running rivulets of light, pulsing in the melody’s rhythm; Makalaurë’s gift to him. He imagines his brother, hanging there and sealing his song in the rocks. Lower still, he sees Káno’s mark, blazing bright, as big as his forearm and he touches it in passing, greeting it. The roar of the waterfall becoming mist makes a sound that he hears with his body more than his ears, making a constant thrum that pushes him deeper into the darkness. His brow shines brightly; his clothes have gems sewn on them and he also has his father’s lamp, but after passing Makalaurë ‘s light he almost immediately misses it. 

The deeper he goes the more the darkness presses against him intently. From below he starts seeing a great blackness moving, shifting, the movements of a behemoth.

He gets lower and the air gets warmer, still wet and suffocating. The buffeting from the waters’ fall shakes his rope and he is back on his way to Tulkas’ Ring, this time climbing in reverse.

A blazing silver light appears and he feels the steady thrum of a heart. He touches Tyelko’s mark and gets renewed strength.

Sirmë has descended lower still and so he cannot stop. He goes deeper, at least he thinks he does. The mist floats all around him, pressing him from all sides, the darkness a palpable veil. He starts hallucinating lights and voices, starts forgetting who he is, what he looks like and the world outside seems a misty dream. The present darkness around him, the mist pushing him down, the roar in his ears are his only reality.

He sees a glow deep into the darkness and it seems many blooms have passed until he gets there. His father’s star shines defiantly, bright like a true star, huge, ten times his height. He presses his cheek to its center, bathing in its warm glow, sobbing, seeking the comfort of his father’s embrace. There, he finally remembers the world above.

Sirmë has descended deeper still.

He goes lower, and weeps again when he finally passes his father’s star, tears mingling with the mist going into the abyss to the monster below.

He keeps looking up until he cannot see his father’s star anymore and there he stops. The darkness returns, blacker than before. His own light seems dimmer. His fingers hurt and his muscles scream in protest. He goes lower, changing the cord again and again, beating pistons into the rock to hold him. His anchors seem to sink into molasses.

He had lost count on how many times he walked the rope’s length. The rock is sometimes unyielding, sometimes deceptively easy to break, soft, almost like a sponge, a breathing, living being. Other times it’s brittle and it crumbles under his fingers, taking his holds and then he stops and touches the walls, tries to see where he can put his next hold so that he won’t fall down. He tries not to think about what Sirmë did, how she might have fared. He hasn’t seen any trace of passing. No indentations on the wall.

Lower still he goes. In the darkness he starts seeing a sick glow. His fingers become stiff; he has forgotten to eat, to drink. Uncaringly, he lets his provisions fall. The weight of his equipment threatens to bowl him over. He starts throwing away his gems, just to make sure he’s going down, to see some light away from him as well.

The world seems tilted. He does not know which direction he goes anymore. Is it up, down, or he is simply walking along the great circular wall, forever wandering in the same place? He starts singing, his voice bouncing up, down, echoing in the empty space.

His throat is hoarse.

He hears an answering voice but cannot pinpoint its direction. He sees the dim glow of lichen and follows its glowing trail. After a while they start spreading in many directions so he has no idea where to go. The voice is closer but he cannot see, cannot be sure where the bouncing echoes come from, so he rips the glowing lichen, chews it and starts singing again. He chokes and coughs, the shiny pinpricks of light flying out of his mouth, bright like fireflies in the dark. He hears her again, and soon he feels a hand touch his. Sirmë looks at him and he finally sees light from another source.

She guides him on a ledge and gives him a drink. He doesn’t even think to ask what it is inside. It is not water, but it soothes his throat and gives him a memory of rushing mountain torrents jumping from stone to stone, sparkling in the light of Laurelin. His head feels clear.

‘My equipment failed earlier’, Sirmë informs him matter of factly. ‘I was thinking on how to go lower, but I got stuck here. The lichen does not thrive here that well. Many have disappeared already’. She takes a handful of lichen from her bag and shows them to him. ‘Maybe we could cross-breed them and monitor them carefully; after a few cycles we’ll have a breed better suited to the environment’.

He looks at her, at her eyes, calm and even a bit excited. Fearless. Deep, he sees the darkness reflected in her eyes. She has gone through the abyss as well.

‘Go up with me’, he begs her. ‘Please’.

Sirmë looks at him for a long time, then nods.

‘I will go with you’, she whispers and inside the darkness Curufinwë sees her shine like a star. The darkness retreats and he sees her clearly for the first time.

They ascend back on a journey more treacherous than before. It is almost as if the abyss wants them to stay down, but this time they are together. 

They finally arrive under the shining stars, the water once more silver-white, roaring around them. This time he does not fear them anymore. Curufinwë has a racking cough from the spores but smiles.

‘You shouldn’t put everything in your mouth’, Sirmë teases him.

His smiles widens. ‘I was told it passes , he replies, taking her arm and leaning on it heavily. ‘Call me Atarinkë’, he murmures. 

They start back.

Later, Atarinkë remembers his descent again and realises he has never seen his eldest brother’s mark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Metaphors abound this chapter.
> 
> The Unending Waterfall, mentioned earlier in a discussion, will be better explained later. Why did Feanor go there? Why did the others go there? What is the purpose? (Simple answer, another test).
> 
> Ungoliant was in Avathar, quite close to Aman, and there are beings who dwelt deep in Arda, unnamed. One of such is there, in the deep, sleeping.
> 
> Maitimo being the lowest tells something about his character, just as his care for his younger brothers. Makalaurë, with whom Curufin is always at odds, shows another side down in the abyss. 
> 
> In true noldor fashion, the confession is said in the deep of the earth XD. Curufin did the most noldor confession ever.
> 
> Laurë: the period in which Laurelin is in bloom ala the ‘day’.
> 
> Language notes:
> 
> Vinya: affectionate appellative for younger brother
> 
> Telpë: silver


	38. Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangerous fluff is in the air ( mainly from Curufin’s cough). Curufin also finds out he does not have one matchmaker, he has three of them.

How did you find me?`, Sirmë asks Atarinkë while they slowly make their way back between the slippery stones from the middle of the waterfall torrent to the edge.

Curufinwë points to his mouth and coughs for emphasis.

`No, not _that_. How did you know to come here?`

‘My brother gave me your letter five blooms of Laurelin later than he should have’, he tells Sirmë apologetically.

`Hm? What letter?` Sirmë asks, bewildered.

`The letter you sent me`, Atarinkë replies, confused. `The letter in which you told me of your plans`.

Sirmë stops and looks at him quizzically. `I didn't write any letter’, she informs him. 

Curufinwë’s head falls on his chest and he mumbles darkly something that sounds ‘I’ll kill them”.

She smiles. ‘I am glad you came for me. I was going to go down forever. I felt I couldn’t go up no matter how much I tried, so it was only down for me. It was more appealing’.

Curufinwë hums.

‘How do you feel? She asks, shifting to see his face. 

`I am fine`, Atarinkë assures her, smiling. `How did they forge your writing so well?`, he wonders suspiciously.

`Oh`, Sirmë seems to think. `Remember the pavilion? Prince Turcafinwë made me write a lot of specifics in a contract when he convinced me to participate. I had to give my seal as well. Then Prince Kanafinwë came in and made me write some short poems, ditties, invent a code to see if I can pass notes quickly and discreetly…’

‘Why would he do that?’ Curufinwë asks outraged.

‘He said it was part of the screening process’, she replied shrugging.

Curufinwë remains silent for a while, concentrating on not getting swept up by the torrent. ‘You never called **me** prince’, he remarks after a while, his tone petulant.

Sirmë throws him a look. ‘You were always special, Curufmph-‘. 

‘Atarinkë’, he tells her, finger pressed to her lips. Seeing her lips part, he suddenly remembers who he is speaking with and hastily pulls his hand before her teeth would have fastened on it. 

‘Tch’, he hears her say under her breath.

He clears his throat casually. His throat hurts from the lichen but soon he’ll hack them all out; the environment wasn’t very conductive to their proliferation. ‘What should I call you?’, he ventures.

‘Give me an impossible name’, Sirmë throws over her shoulder, skipping the last stones to the edge in quick succession. He follows her just as fast, then when he gets on the riverbank as well he lifts her up in his arms and twirls her around shouting: ‘Grndjerekaokrjfjejwjjwwwdkqw’ , until they fall over.

‘What?’, Sirmë asks, laughing. He feels her body shake in mirth on top of his and he relaxes completely.

‘Grndjerekaokrjfjejwjjwwwdkqw’, he replies grinning. ‘Your name’. 

‘You still have some after effects from the lichen ingestion, ‘ she informs him, shifting to listen to his lungs.

‘I’ve never been better’, Atarinkë tells her, putting his arms around her. Sirmë throws him a doubtful look.

She looks exhausted, he observes so he gently cradles her head in his hands and she leans into him. In the end they rest there, at the edge of the roaring currents, her head on his shoulder, watching the stars and walking the path of dreams together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names switch between Curufinwe and Atarinke because it’s still new for Sirme to think of him like at. He’s Atarinke in dialogue, Curufinwe in narration.
> 
> Names are very important. Sirme asks for an inpossible name in quenya and Curufin delivers. (Names starting with G are not possible in quenya, but he went even further).
> 
> For the waterfall, imagine something like the Iguaçu Falls in Brazil, only they fall into an abyss; and to get to the wall from which you can descend you have to jump from rock to rock.


	39. Chapter 39

They had timed their arrival to Nolofinwë’s display of fireworks so they managed to slip in almost unseen. 

‘When will I be able to see you?`, he asks Sirmë before parting.

She hums thoughtfully. `Maybe during the next star-dance. We have a lot of catching up to do as a family`, she says apologetically. 

`I understand`, he says although he feels a pang of regret. He had stalled as much as he could on the way back, delighting in her company, in having her only for him. `After the star-dance, you could come to my workshop`, he proposes hesitantly. `I have a plan for the painite to show you….`

She smiles and bows merrily. `I certainly shall, if you visit my kitchen`, she replies mischievously. 

‘...I shall come prepared for battle`, Atarinkë promises in mock gravity.

Back at his house, Curufinwë finds a ’welcome back` message written with crushed rose petals scattered on the floor. The smell is heady. On a small side table there are two delicate white cups with hibiscus tea and on the back of the chair a beautiful jacket with fiery gold hibiscus flowers sewn on it is folded carefully. He sighs but the crushed petals make him remember the feel of Sirmë's lips as he absently rubs the petals between his fingers. He takes in the most obvious change in his room. For the first time since he was ten years old, he has a bed. A huge bed on a rectangular low frame, a mattress and a duvet on top of it, covered in diaphanous lotus flower silk. A black quilt in rich brocade with red and embroidered with gold fire-birds waits sits on top. 

He imagines Sirmë on the bed. Wearing a necklace only. He starts imagining the best shape for her body, the way it will hug her neck, then dip down, white gold and white-blue small diamonds trailing lower and lower in wider circles. Curufinwë starts sketching the design immediately, forgoes sleep and goes to his workshops to hunt for gems. The centerpiece of the necklace will be, of course, her painite, cut to perfection. 

Invigorated, he starts at once.

* * *

_2 months later, ten blooms before the star-dance  
  
_

‘This is for you’, Nehtë informes Sirmë.

Sirmë looks at the mountain of letters that had occupied their guest room, intricately folded, tied with small necklaces, colourful ribbons and even plant stems. The paper differs wildly, from stiff parchment to silk paper in varying sizes.

‘...how many are there?’, she asks.

‘Exactly 14600’, her sister informs her.

‘We have only known each-other for one year and nine months’, Sirmë replies, eye twitching.

‘He must have wanted to make up for lost time’, Nehtë suggests then makes to leave the room.

‘Wait!’, Sirmë croaks, catching her sleeve. ‘Don’t leave me alone!’

Nehtë looks at her unimpressed. ‘They’re just letters. Oh, do you think they’ll explode? Wouldn’t put it past you two’.

‘No, I, oh have not thought of that!’, Sirmë exclaims. `What if they explode if moved? Maybe I should leave them…’

‘Open them!’, Nethë orders, ‘Immediately!’. 

Sirmë grins unrepentant. ‘I knew my older sister would help’, she cries.

She starts opening them from the top of the pile and scans them rapidly. The first three hundred or so are flattering descriptions of her, romantic poetry and personal messages about their experiences together. Further down the pile he starts describing some of his experiments that would be of help in her area of expertise as well. Lower, Sirmë starts to seriously consider whether she should give them back because it seems he accidentally started some new engineering projects instead of actually writing to her. The last couple hundred letters, the earliest, are mainly elaborate insults.

‘He was trying to be accurate’, Nehtë laughs when Sirmë shows her the last messages.

‘I think he wrote them in reverse’, Sirmë says amused and exasperated in equal measure. ‘I wonder what possessed him to them all at the same time. It must have been exhausting to keep it up’.

She leaves them there, half open for later and goes to pen an edible reply. No need to take up so much space, and maybe he’ll get the hint.

* * *

Rúna enters the guest room through the open window, and gestures to his friend to come in as well.

‘The coast is clear, no eyes here`, he announces and jumps lightly on the table without stirring the leaves of the potted plant on it. A golden head appears at the upper pane and Arafinwë also enters the house with a silent jump. 

‘Did you start to work as messengers as well?’, He asks Rúna, bemused.

‘No’, Rúna tells him, ‘look, they all have the same handwriting`. 

Arafinwë tiptoes between the letters carefully while Rúna jumps over them like a rabbit. Fannon enters the room with a bang and both startle so bad they fall into the loose pile of papers. The older boy starts laughing at them then takes in the state of the room and whistles. 

‘I heard my dear cousin received some letters in great secrecy’, he says gleefully. ‘Is it a fight again?’, he asks, taking one from the floor and scanning it rapidly.

‘You shouldn’t read personal letters’, Arafinwë and Rúna both tell him indignantly. 

Fannon looks at them then all look at the half opened letters.

‘Don’t they look like a folding experiment gone wrong?’ Arafinwë asks after a while, seeing a pattern in the colours and shapes. Hesitatingly at first, then more and more boldly he starts taking them and joining the messages to each other. Rúna and Fannon also start helping and when Telperion is mingling with Laurelin they finally finish a statue of Sirmë dancing, skirt billowing in an imaginary breeze.

There’s a collective appreciative ` _Oooh_ `, from all of them.

`I need to hear the news from the source`, Fannon announces and leaves hurriedly.

`Do you still want to practice the gecko walk?`, Rúna asks Arafinwë. `We have a very good wall for beginners`. 

Arafinwë hesitates then smiles brilliantly. `Of course`, he replies, bowing respectfully. Rúna whoops and rushes out the window, closely followed by his new friend. His aunt’s paper skirt moves slightly at their passing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curufin starts with a necklace and gets to 2 years’ worth of letters... I can imagine who gave him that idea.
> 
> having the youngest marry first in that family will definitely not go smoothly...
> 
> Rúna is still a kid so he doesn't get it yet, he’s more interested in showing his friend his gecko walk.  
> Worldbuilding: 
> 
> Elves don’t need that much sleep, so for them beds would not be that important; when you can basically sleep while walking. Cushions, settles, some comfy recliners would be enough; they would not need to go back to their room to sleep. So no, the personal room is not a sleeping room. Beds are for children, who sleep a bit more, and for couples.


	40. Chapter 40

They meet at Atarinkë’s house ten blooms after he had sent the letters, three blooms before the star-dance in the plains next to the river where the fireflies have their courtship dances.

Sirmë is already dressed for the occasion, her clothes a deep reddish blue taffeta covered in many gauzy layers of very light blues, violets and pinks, so thin they rise and flutter at every movement. She also carries a big colourful sack on her back.

‘Let’s make our hair for the star dance’, Curufinwë proposes when he sees her head covered. ‘You did not brush your hair, didn’t you?’ He asks. 

She grins and twirls, showing the full effect of her dress. ‘You’re right’, she exclaims unbothered. ‘I see you are not quite ready either’, she continues, pointedly watching his heavy apron thrown over his practical workshop clothes. ‘I brought some sashes and overclothes you can use’, she tells him, giving him her big satchel. ‘They match’, she winks. Curufinwë takes off his head covering and grins. 

‘Let us start with the hair’, he declares and Sirmë whips out a beautifully carved wood comb, decorated with seashells and crushed gems. 

‘Did you carve it?’, he asks, craning his neck to see the details better. 

‘Stay still’, Sirmë orders and so he does, getting lost in the blissful feeling of having the comb move through his hair, untangling it. Sirmë starts humming and plaiting, and soon he forgets about everything else. He is only conscious about the hands moving through his hair, pulling and twisting and Atarinkë relaxes completely in a blissful daydream.

An unknown delightful time later, she stops and tells him she has finished. The laughter in her eyes makes him search for the first reflective surface he can find and when he sees her result he starts laughing as well. ‘I should have expected it’, he says wheezing, ‘seeing your previous attempts. It is my turn now’, he continues gleefully and shows her his deceptively simple silver comb. Sirmë’s eyes widen and her mouth parts, hands reaching towards it when he turns her away from it. ‘I need to comb your hair first’, he replies smugly, and Sirmë huffs.

He combs her hair carefully, watching the play of light on her hair, running his fingers through the strands, warm from the golden light, and slowly starts pinning it up and braiding, humming and stealing quick kisses on her hair. His kisses get bolder, the short quick kisses lingering, then, as her hair is mostly up, he bends down to kiss her graceful neck, and as Sirmë turns to him, on her cheek, on her chin, on the corner of her lips, and finally their mouths meet. 

In that moment, Sirmë’s hands tangle in his hair bringing him even closer, opens her mouth and deepens their kiss, making him forget about anything else except the feel of push and pull, warmth and the taste of honeysuckle.

When they finally part, Sirmë is fully on his lap, their hair a tangled mess. Sirmë looks up to him and asks breathlessly ‘Were you that annoyed with your hairdo?’. 

Atarinkë nuzzles her neck, not trusting to speak just then. ‘Let us go and make the engagement rings’, he murmurs hoarsely against her neck, making her shiver and blocking his next thoughts.

They part reluctantly and go to his underground workshop in a hazy half-dream, that only partially lifts when Curufinwë sees the familiar shapes and glints of metals and gems; there, he can finally compose himself. 

They get lost in designs, make trial runs on the rings, and finally try on some of them, to see how they would fit. Somehow, Curufinwë is not entirely sure how, they start kissing again, dancing, and they find themselves singing, pledging to one another. The words feel strange and right and wonderful and they continue with a pledge in poem form, harmonising, lost in each-other’s eyes.

`And I witness`, they hear a grave voice from the side, which breaks the spell. Feánaro, son of Finwë, the High King of the Noldor, is leaning on the doorframe, watching them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s one way to meet your scary in-law.  
> They are accidentally half-married already, so they need to untwist this problem quickly. 
> 
> Let’s be honest, after that confession, being coy is not their style, at least not until their families start butting in. 
> 
> Clothes are close to tang period clothes, I love them!


	41. Chapter 41

Sirmë freezes , her hand tangled in Curufinwë’s robe. 

Feanaro enters, waving a sheaf of papers. ‘You forgot your documents at the dinner table Atarinkë, so I came to deliver them to you’, his father tells him neutrally, carefully placing them on a side table. His burning eyes sweep over the workshop then settle on the two forms still close together in an obvious lovers’ embrace.

He approaches them, bows to Sirmë then straightens and looks at her intensely. She feels her legs turn to water; her mouth has dried up, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. The only thing that goes through her head is how similar the two of them look, her panic growing with each heartbeat.

‘Sirmë Lindaneriel, atya’, Curufinwë says, holding her arms, anchoring her. Sirmë shakes up from her terror, goes four steps forward and bows. When she straightens, relieved that she has not messed up the proper etiquette at least, Feanaro looks at her with a raised eyebrow and Curufinwë gazes at her with a slightly wounded and surprised expression, and _they look so similar_ she reflexively bows again, including both.

’This kind of bow?’, Feanaro asks, looking at her speculatively, then to his _so similar_ son who is much paler than before, his hands balled in his apron. Sirmë looks at them bemused, racking her brains for any misstep she might have done, when Feanaro continues more formally. ‘I heard of your work with my son on the waste disposal units, Lindaneriel. Though the work is long over, the head of the team has not properly thanked the team’. Curufinwë winces and Sirmë is too tongue-tied to correct him. Feanaro continues, seemingly oblivious, ‘It would be my duty to invite you and your family to a dinner at your soonest convenience’, he adds, inclining his head.

Sirmë takes this as a her cue to leave and hastily murmurs some excuse but Feanaro forestalls her stammered words.

’I was but in passing and you do not seem to have finished yet’, he tells them. ‘I would loathe to keep you away from your _project’,_ he adds in a light tone and goes with long purposeful strides to the exit where he turns to his son and looks at him pointedly; Sirmë sees Curufinwë an embarrassed blush rise on his cheeks, a silent protest ready on his lips, but the High Prince of the Noldor leaves then.

’ _You are so similar’_ , she blurts in a horrified tone. 

‘Is this why you went for the most formal bow for when you meet the prince for the first time?’ He asks, his tone slightly hysterical. ‘When I’m courting you and you are practically already part of the family? Do you want to back off now?’, he continues agitatedly.  
  
Sirmë takes her head in her hands and moans. ‘I went to the etiquette lessons I had drilled into me from childhood. I-I did not think’.

’Is my father _that_ intimidating?’, he asks her bemusedly, approaching her and taking her by the shoulders. She leans into him and muffles a scream. ‘You have no idea’, she says into his chest, voice wobbling between laughter and sobbing. He embraces her, moving his hands up and down on her back soothingly.

’He likes you’, he tells her confidently and she raises her head to look at him skeptically. He grins at her. ‘You did say we are very similar. _I_ like you, so he likes you as well’ he announces and she laughs. Curufinwë’s grin falls. ‘He is actually upset with **me** a bit’, he allows sheepishly. ‘He found out about us from Arafinwë’.

 _ **‘What?’**_ **,** Sirmë exclaims surprised. ‘You will be fine’, he tells her, ruffling her hair, ‘it’s I that’s going to have problems’. He takes their last try and looks at it critically before putting it down. ‘We do need to finish the design’, he says seriously. ‘We need to have them ready for the dinner’.

’Yes, dinner’, Sirmë says weakly. He turns to her. ‘Do _your_ parents know?’, he asks her with a quizzical tilt of his head. 

‘Maybe?’, she says unsure. ‘After the letter **statue,** they might have gotten a hint’.

Curufinwë grins. ‘See, you should have sent a huge boiling cake or something to my parents’ house while I was there’, he tells her gleefully. ‘They might have gotten the hint as well’.

’They might have forbidden me to get close to you instead’, she mutters darkly and Curufinwë laughs. ‘Haven’t you realised until now what kind of family we are?’ He asks, amused. ‘We are a true Noldorin family’, he continues, ‘we love dangerous experiments. The dinner will be fun!’, he cackles. ‘You should bring something’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirmë messes up, Curufinwë is scared she’s refusing his suit, Feanaro is kinda making fun of them a bit; the dinner is basically when the families meet and the couple has their wedding- yep, Feanaro basically told them they might as well get married directly, without any prior engagement, when he saw the rhythm they were going XD. 
> 
> Next, the Dinner where we have all ~~combattants~~ characters in the same room.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirmë visits her friend to tell her about the engagement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Zimraphel who beta-ed this chapter. Thank you!!!

When Celosse sees her next, she sees the silver band on her index finger immediately, and exclaims in surprise. 

‘Congratulations!’ she says, hugging her and kissing her cheeks effusively, lifting her and twirling her around. Sirmë laughs wildly, throwing her arms in the air. 

‘How was the dinner?’ Celosse asks her excitedly after putting her down. Sirmë collapses dramatically on the low couch and buries her face in the pillows. ‘ _wedidnthaveit yet’_

‘What did you just say?’ Celosse asks her incredulously. ‘I think I heard you say you did not have it yet. What is that, then, a new fashion trend?’ she adds in bewilderment bordering on irritation. 

Sirmë raises her head in a rush and throws her a look between sheepish, miserable and excited. ‘We will have our family dinner in five blooms’ time.’

 **‘…How?’** her friend asks, plopping herself down next to Sirmë. ‘From the way you up the drama it must not be that bad.’ 

‘Oh, but it is that bad,’ Sirmë informs her, ‘this is just me laughing in the face of utter disaster because there’s nothing else to do.’

`What exactly happened? May I see it?’ Celosse asks, and at Sirmë’s approval she carefully inspects the ring on her index finger, turning it one way, then the other. 

‘This is Curufinwë’s work alright. He does those insanely difficult wire wrapped rings that seem a solid mass and make you get lost in the loops if you look at it too much; he put a lot of thought into this one,’ she adds slyly, ‘so I won’t pry. It is quite... bold to wear it in public. He has not been very discreet… Did you give him some of your experiments to eat?’

‘I did not. He was not under any influence. And the ring... I did not even dare look at it.’ Sirmë confesses. ‘I have only read it through touch.’ She turns the ring on her finger slowly, and gets lost in thought. Celosse snaps her back to the present.

‘How?’

‘We met,’ Sirmë starts.   
  
‘Obviously.’ Celosse retorts.

‘We were supposed to go to the firefly star dance together.’  
  
‘Yes,’ Celosse encourages her.

Sirmë fidgets. ‘We combed each other’s hair?’ she offers tentatively, blushing.

Celosse whistles, then starts laughing. ‘It’s, hah, my name that has to do with snow,’ she gasps, ‘and yet you two started an avalanche by yourselves.’

‘He invited me to his private workshop.’ Sirmë replies defensively.

Celosse howls. ‘I regret to inform you,’ she says putting a hand on Sirmë’s shoulder consolingly, ‘but you are practically married already. Private workshop,’ she snorts.

‘We were just doing some rehearsing’ Sirmë replies.

‘And?’ Celosse asks gleefully.

‘His father found us!’ Sirmë wails, making a small glass near her crack. Celosse freezes for a moment, then explodes in a laugh that makes the walls vibrate. 

‘And he did not know anything apparently, even if his older brothers definitely did,’ Sirmë adds, laughing despite herself.

‘Stop, please, I beg you.’ Celosse gasps. ‘You shall kill me at this rate`.

‘I’m sure dying from laughter at your friend’s expense is not such a bad way to go,’ Sirmë replies, lips twitching.

‘The right way to go is with an experiment. One that finishes with a bang.’, Celosse declares. ‘At least I could tell Namo I couldn’t have possibly survived it.’ 

‘That’s about it,’ Sirmë finishes, shrugging. ‘My parents were not expecting things to move that quickly either. They were of course upset only Fëanáro managed to catch the moment and was the only one to bear witness.’

‘The family dinner is being done only to keep tradition now,’ Celosse says sympathetically. 

‘I met the King with a broken arm while his grandson had a punctured lung. I met his father while getting engaged with his son without his knowledge,’ Sirmë says gloomily. ‘We have started issuing invitations and announcements. I hoped only the immediate family would be present but apparently my future husband’s family wants to meet all my relatives.’

‘All?’ Celosse asks skeptically.

‘ **All** ’, Sirmë replies. 

‘I shall compose an appropriate eulogy for you,’ Celosse grins. ‘Maybe Namo will let you hide in his Halls for a while until people get another thing to think about.’

‘Do you think his father would ever forget?’ Sirmë asks doubtfully.

‘You are right, he wouldn’t. You’ll have a lengthy stay then.’ Celosse tells her cheerily. Sirmë nods and sighs. ‘I am too afraid to meet them all. I vomited when I imagined the meeting… And when I think… you know I used to have a crush on Nyello.’ 

‘That brute?’ Celosse groans.

‘He’s not a brute, he’s a catch,’ Sirmë corrects her, smiling a little. ‘And when they find out what I did during that visit…’

‘Oh, _oh_ ,’ Celosse nods in dawning understanding. ‘Maybe they won't,’ she adds optimistically.

‘They will,’ Sirmë says miserably. ‘I bet his brother will make a song out of it and perform it at the engagement dinner.’ 

* * *

Makalaurë strums his harp.

‘I have a new song prepared for the dinner,’ he announces happily to no one in particular. ‘It will be a masterpiece.’

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyello is the teleri who guarded Curufinwë during his trip to Alqualonde. The first chapter estabilshed Sirmë likes silver hair... and in the end she fell for someone with black hair. Such is life.


	43. The Sugar Maiden and The Shark

‘Twas once a big brown bear

Who loved the taste of honey

He had a graceful wife indeed

A cheerful black mockingjay.

‘Let’s make a daughter spun of gold

As sweet as poppy honey’

‘Honey is a bit too soft’, she said

‘Let’s spun her out of sugar’.

They went to work and spun her bright.

The sugar maiden’s hair was black 

Her arms were white and long

White Gems glittered in her hair 

Her clothes a fluffy Cloud of sugar-gold  
  


She danced in place;

her arms were raised, her leg was up

But she was stuck fast to her stump.

A flying strand of hair 

Attracted with its perfume

A golden butterfly who perched 

And nibbled her with gusto

Her eyelids fluttered and she woke.

She snapped her hair,

she twirled in place 

And started running after

She ran on hills she ran on roofs

She danced on walls and bushes

She almost melted once or twice

But she remained undaunted

She felt a new smell in the air

‘What is this oh, what is this?’ 

‘It is the sea’, the wind replied.

It’s salt and waves and banks of fish

And great sharks waiting underneath’.

‘I wish to see, I wish to see!’ 

And so she went to sea.

She saw the waves, she toed the sand

She saw white crested waves.

‘They are like my clothes’ she said

‘But they are made of water-salt’.

She tried and touched a frothy lace

And crystal salt bloomed on her toes

She was no longer just of sweet

But she was even sweeter

‘It is so beautiful’, she said

‘But I’m not tempted under’.

Parting the waves in great long strokes

She saw a great white shark who swam

She hailed it and cried to him

To come and dance with her.

‘I cannot live on land and you cannot in water’

He said and swam down in the reef

Deaf to her pleas.

She jumped in after him.

The water, it was cold and dark

And frothing at the edges.

First her clothes of cloud changed,

Dissolving in the water

Then her hair was gone as well,

and last her arms and legs they went.

Only a thin salt blade remained of her

Surrounded by sweet water

A blade the shark crunched with his teeth

And so the maiden got her wish. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not Maglor... I am not good at poetry XD.
> 
> This is what happened with Sirme and Nyello (in a bit of metaphor, ofc). I’m curious what you got from this XD


	44. Bethrotal

Curufinwë and Sirmë are seated at the head of the long table. On Sirmë’s right sits Fëanáro, followed by his wife, then the King of the Noldor. On Curufinwë’s left sits Sirmë’s mother, then her husband, followed by her grandmother. After that, the order is mixed, with family on both sides. 

They had taken the silver rings off for this occasion and both absently rub at the empty spot.

‘I read your travel books when I was little’, Fëanáro says, smiling to Lindaner. ‘They inspired me to travel far and wide in Aman and find the hidden places you talked about’.

‘I am glad there were some who found my ramblings interesting enough to read’, Lindaner replies, laughing.

‘Indeed. Your code for secret travels were a great starting point for the travels with my wife’, Fëanáro replies, innocently.

Lindaner hides his pleased smile in the cup, drinks and both raise their cups in a silent salute.

‘Your son looks quite similar to you’, Lindaner starts. ‘I heard from my nephew that you also did a bit of travelling together’, he says, turning to Curufinwë. He nods calmly; Sirmë sees the hand in his lap slowly curling on the fabric and averts her gaze in order not to attract attention; she meets Fëanáro’s burning gaze and tries to keep her face neutral. Fëanáro’s lips twitch into a small smile.

Lindaner has started talking about telerin courting rituals. ‘The teleri bring their ship close to their intended and maneuver in a dance, to convince the other to get out of the harbour and sail with them . Then, they goes with their ship full of catch to their intended’s parents and gifts it to them. The vanyar jump from Ramba and dance together in the air, hair unbound. They go through the Great Teeth and pass between the Needles, helping each-other not get smashed into the mountain face while travelling the swirling currents’.

‘The noldor usually bring gifts to the girl, and to her parents, he concludes genially’, then turns to Curufinwë fully. I heard you went directly to my daughter and told her quite frankly that you intend to court her. My son told me he has heard you were quite forward in your intentions. Do you intend to start a new courting ritual for the noldor?’, he asks full of mock scientific curiosity’.

‘I saw him’, pipe in Rúna and Melda from their places in the middle of the table. ‘He was really nice, like a bird of Aman!’

‘And he had fiery stars in his hair! The spring constellations!!!’, Alasse shouts from her place proudly.

‘And he had a beautiful flower in his ear’, Melda jumps in, not to be outclassed. ‘It was deep red, it had a long pistil slightly curved, thicker on top; it was glistening faintly as if wet; it the most beautiful rendition of a hibiscus flower I have ever seen’, she finishes, proud of her observations. 

Lindaner chokes on his wine and Fëanáro freezes, then slowly turns to Curufinwë who is slowly going red despite his best efforts. His brothers look on: Maitimo serenely, Tyelkormo with an exaggerated shocked expression and Makalaure trying not to laugh. He blocks everybody else’s reactions. His help comes from the most unexpected source, his insufferable golden voiced brother, who suavely says he was simply trying to match her aggressive style. ‘He did sustain second degree burns, poisoning, a perforated stomach and broken ribs in his pursuit’, he concludes in a vice full of admiration for his little brother’s tenacity.

It’s Sirmë’s turn to turn red, and Maitimo takes his cue from Makalaure. ‘Nothing was as  _ interesting _ as their sewer clean-up. Our new little sister is very cunning in approaching him indeed’, he says, inclining his head respectfully to her.

‘It was me who found the rats first!’ Rúna jumps from his place, ready to defend his aunt. ‘Tell them, Mahtar!’ Findekano jumps from his place and nods vigorously. ‘I begged her to help me keep them alive and she helped! My aunt is nice!’ He finishes accusingly, finger pointing straight at Maitimo. Unfortunately, since he’s sitting between Fannon and Tyelkormo, none make any move to correct his manners. His mother’s look quells him little and he sheepishly sits back on his chair, eyes like a starry lake from unshed tears. Tyelkormo and Fannon both console him, Sirmë sees then she feels Fëanáro look at his father, shaking his head at him, and she looks down, nervously playing with her food. 

‘Do you like it?’, she hears him ask. ‘I heard many great things from you from my son. He said your food is to lay your life down for’, he grins, quoting his son’s inflection perfectly and Sirmë startles, looking at Curufinwë. 

‘I could make some quick things here’, she says awkwardly, and he nods enthusiastically, gets up immediately and offers her his arm. She gets ul as well, bows to the table and leaves.

The two of them are still not back after an inordinate amount of time has passed. Curufinwë tries not to fidget in his place, and keeps touching the small pouch that has their silver rings. Finally, Nerdanel declares she shall go and find her husband, inviting Sirmë’s mother as well. 

They get to the kitchen and they see Fëanáro and Sirmë fiddling with an improvised contraption. When he sees his wife, Fëanáro enthusiastically gestures to her to come closer ‘This will kill a whale, that one an elephant, and  _ that  _ has the potential to obliterate a whole town’, he tells her, pointing to different innocuous pieces of sponge cake or bread arranged on the plates. ‘From which one should I start’, he asks enthusiastically.

Nerdanel puts her arm on his quellingly. ‘Dear, she says delicately, ‘leave the youngsters be. They must have a lot to talk about’.

She belies her words by taking Sirmë’shands and smiling brilliantly at her. ‘I can’t wait to know you better. My son says you’re perfect. 

Sirmë demurs akwkardly, suddenly reminded of her faux-pas, but Nerdanel waves her off ‘I wish to make a sculpture of you and then one with you two. For that, I would like to observe you moving, doing normal chores, and dancing.

Sirmë is at a loss. ‘Should I start with cook-‘

‘-dancing’, Nerdanel interrupts her, grinning, ‘since it was touted by your father as an appropriate courtship ritual for all tribes’ .

‘Oh, of course’. They go back, and Sirmë takes her brother and sister, as well as Melda and Rúna for a dance. Curufinwë tries to hide his disappointment. They start slowly, then throw long white scarves, catch them on high corners and start an aerial dance.

Makalaurë starts singing as well, taking over their rhythm. Her brother retreats from the dance and starts on drums. Nehtë starts a counterpoint melody on the flute to take the song away from him. Soon, both families get into the song and dance, celebrating their union.

When there is time for the ring exchange, Sirmë and Curufinwë have forgotten all their fears.

’What is the date to be?’, Fëanáro asks them, formally.

Atarinkë looks at his future wife and smiles. ‘As soon as possible’, he declares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feanor can be a great host XD.
> 
> Now everybody knows what Sirme’s involvement was exactly; poor Runa, he thought he was helping. Now, everybody makes fun a bot of each other, because they did something highly unusual.
> 
> (I got back on track with the daily updates it seems :)))


End file.
